Manna from Heaven
by ZeesMuse
Summary: Be careful what you wish for, for the Angel of Death has a sense of humor.
1. Prologue - Love is

**Title****: Manna from Heaven**  
**Author****: Zee's Muse**  
**Fandom:**** Robin Hood BBC 2005**  
**Genre:**** FCHET**

**Pairing: Guy of Gisborne/OFC**

**Characters: Sir Guy of Gisborne, Vaisey; Sheriff of Nottingham, Robin Hood, Much, other canon characters, OFC**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing from the series. I don't own any of the characters recognizable. **  
**Timeline: 12th Century England, Modern Day**

**Setting: Season 3, after the arrival of Isabella and before the arrival of Prince John: modern day Atlanta, Georgia**

**Spoilers: None. If it happened in the series, it happens here. The only thing AU would be the modern day stuff**  
**Beta: The wonderful and amazing Alex-Cat! Why do you put up with me?**

**Summary: Be careful what you wish for. The Angel of Death has a sense of humor.**

**Notes: Chapter Titles are derived from I Corinthians 13: 4-7.. (the Love Chapter) Chapter Footers are from Nickleback's "S-E-X"**

_**Manna from Heaven**_

_**Prologue**_

_**Love is…**_

_Two celestial beings wandered the pathways, bare feet on the grass. The pair would appear strange to the casual observer; one traditionally tall and slender, blonde, un-gendered, its long, white – feathered wings close in, its bearing one of serenity._

_The second however was short, rotund, definitely female, almost grandmotherly. She bounced, bobbed, smiled, pointed. Her wings were out, bumped into things, blue, matching her hair. She was not 'angel-like' at all. One hand was out, not touching the orbs that floated around them, coaxing them when she knocked them off balance, but managing somehow to caress the inner energy, making them sparkle, awaken, before she moved on, the small fireworks, the soul within returning to sleep._

'_Anael! Must you disturb them?'_

_Anael, the Angel of Passionate Love stopped in her tracks, toes digging into the grass. 'Haamiah! I am not disturbing them!' She made a moue with her mouth. 'I'm simply…'_

'_Disturbing them.' They continued to wander, occasionally stopping to look…_

_'Tis getting crowded.' Haamiah, the Angel of all that was Ethical perused the endless parade of orbs. 'We should tend to this garden, send these waiting souls to Rashnu so he can prepare them for the Almighty for Judgment.'_

_Again, Anael silently grimaced. Rashnu was pompous, took his duty much too seriously, in her opinion. In addition, Anael disliked this particular duty with Haamiah, but it was her penance for her quick tongue so she decided to… to keep… it… from weeding the garden too severely. She looked over those in limbo; so many in need of second chances, a different outlook, things could have been different. One dark orb in particular caught her eye and with a deep sigh, she steered her companion in the opposite direction. _

_For close to 800 years, she had protected that one, kept it - him - safe, out of harm's way. Hidden and away from anyone's eye. Under perfect circumstances, if they arose, she could and would personally approach Douma, the Thousand Eyed Angel of Death, to give this one a second chance; to undo what had been done. Sometimes, Douma acquiesced. _

_Sometimes not._

_Usually not._

_But Anael had a good feeling about this one. If only… if only…_

_He just needed someone to love him back. Someone who could show him that power was not… was not… _

_If she could find the perfect woman... the perfect situation…the perfect instance…the perfect timing… the perfect..._

_The perfect something..._

_She sighed. Putting herself between Haamiah and the black orb, she effectively blocked the view of the austere and rather unforgiving angel and moved off away._

_Protecting the dark knight for yet another century._

_**~~~…~~~**_

'_**S' is for the Simple Need**_

_**~~~…~~~**_


	2. 1 - Patient

_**Manna from Heaven**_

_**Chapter 01**_

_**Patient…**_

_Atlanta, Georgia _

_Autumn, present day_

Genevieve Robinson was burning the candles at both ends.

She didn't like it. Not a bit, but there was nothing to be done for it. Hopefully, within a week or two, many things would be settled, dealt with, taken care of. For not the first time, she checked her 'to do' list. Truthfully, it was the only way she could keep up. Looking at it for the umpteenth time that day, she knew… knew… the candle was going to be burning for a little while longer. At least, there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

_**Sale of architectural firm; **_

_Yeah, about the sale: _

This was her biggest problem. Genevieve was on the verge of becoming a very wealthy woman.

Very. Wealthy.

And the truth was, she hadn't intended on becoming incredibly wealthy; she simply wanted to carve a niche for herself, make her grandmother proud.

Buy her grandmother a new house. She had been living in that run-down shack, in fact, raised Genevieve in that run down shack, since time began. Grace Truth Robinson had been born and raised in that shack, married in the shack, birthed her one and only daughter in that shack; a daughter who after dropping a two-week old Genevieve on her mother, fathered by God-knows-who - ran off to be a groupie in a band Genevieve had never heard of and was never seen again.

Grace did her best by the little girl; raising a much more conscientious granddaughter than daughter. The woman scrimped, saved, sold precious bottomland to put Genevieve through college when the girl's silly building drawings in a high school drafting class earned her the distinction of being a rather gifted architect. College was a breeze, her hard-nosed attitude earning her accolades and many job offers from large, respectable firms. Learning the ropes from the partnership who she finally hired on with, she realized quickly she would never soar, never make it in the high male dominated echelon, would always be the low-woman on the totem pole. She would never be allowed to do more than design bits and pieces of projects and someone would always be looking over her shoulder.

She kept quiet, tight-wadded her funds, roomed with too many roommates, in too cheap an apartment, learned everything she could by listening and watching. When Johnson called in sick, she went to the construction site with the plans, talked to the foreman, and realized that there were flaws in the design. Correcting the errors was no problem, and her boss quietly praised her for making sure the building didn't fall before its time, but Johnson wasn't questioned about it and all Genevieve got was that quiet pat on the head. She watched, silently in fury, when her ideas were attributed to others. At age thirty-one, as soon as she received her senior architect status, (meaning she was still only working on bits and bobs with much supervision and bringing coffee and doughnuts to meetings) struck out on her own, in a small office, with no air-conditioning, a crappy car, stacks of hidden ideas, along with one of the firm's equally neglected Senior project managers and her leads.

Oh, they laughed, those uptight, dickweed, douche bag men… until two weeks later, when little Genevieve Faith Robinson snatched a lucrative large contract from under their very noses with her very fresh and renovating ideas, open spaces and left them scratching their lily-white pansy asses.

No one was laughing now.

_**Contract with Slayman, Raschberg, and Ficklebutte. George?**_

_And what the hell was with George? Where is the contract? The agreement? He's had it for three weeks. He's my attorney! He knows legal mumbo-jumbo is over my head! Give me a draft pencil, a graph program on a computer and I'm fine. Start adding legalese and I'm lost. _

Three years later, she had an office in the upper reaches of the Equitable Building in downtown Atlanta – Five Points, thank you very much – a corner office, thank you very damn much, with windows from floor to ceiling all the way around, and a view of the Northwest Georgia Mountains where very famous War of Northern Aggression Battles had raged, you may now kiss my shiny white Rebel ass! Can you testify and can I hear an 'amen'!

Forty-eight employees! Not huge, not big, nothing grand, but young, hungry, The office bounced, for lack of a better term. They had a 'reputation' of taking on anything, everything. The place was the definition of 'casual chaos' with jean clad young executives lying on the floor and sometimes on the tables, sketching, drawing, tossing ideas. Her sales manager, Val Oelle, was now her office manager, her second, her everything. She ran everything, was her general, so Genevieve could be creative, work with her designers, clients, getting what they wanted set in stone. Genevieve couldn't place an age on the woman and had never tried to. It would be rude. Her grandmother would have a complete and total cow if she even thought…

_**Call George. Again. **_

_I know what they've told me, but… I can't put my finger on it. Something isn't right. Ficklebutte is… oily. I want to make sure my employees stay employed… _

George, her crafty, irascible attorney was playing cat and mouse. Mostly mouse. His secretary was fielding phone calls; a cagier bitch that Genevieve didn't like but what are you going to do? Val said the reason why woman pulled her hair up in such a tight bun, was because she trying to give herself a do-it-yourself facelift.

Probably.

_This deal is supposed to close in a week. Antsy. Just antsy. So much to go right… sooooo much more to go wrongwrongwrongwrongwrong…_

Genevieve's gut was angry. She trusted her gut and if her gut was irritated, well… she needed to investigate. But she paid George to investigate... to translate…

· _**Gym**_

_**· Date.**_

_Ah yes, blonde, blue-eyed, tight ass piece of gentile southern blue-blood royalty, Mr. Lamar Franklin Robencourt. Bounce a quarter off that ass… _

Genevieve grinned at that, before her grin dropped.

_If he'd ever loosen up. And if he'd ever get out of the clutches of his gator of a mother. _

As soon as her second contract was signed, sealed and delivered, a panic attack landed her in the emergency room and the doc convinced her she was 'stressed-out' and needed a 'stress-reliever'. His suggestion was the gym, three times a week.

Honestly, it was the best thing anyone suggested. Unbeknownst to the common man, the high-rise office complex sported a rather nice gym for the occupants. She made use of it religiously, rubbing elbows with some rather appreciative gentlemen trying to keep from having their second and third strokes.

In fact, it was the gym where she met Mr. Lamar Franklin Robencourt, newest partner of Grant, Robencourt, Robencourt, and Grant. He was the one who suggest George as her attorney and then promptly swept her off her feet. He introduced her to Atlanta Society, the social whirl. Genevieve found herself adding Red Cross balls and United Way fundraisers to her calendar. The Atlanta Symphony, the Opera, Fox Theater. He took her golfing at the Atlanta Athletic Club, rubbing elbows with Falcons and Hawks and Georgia Tech and Bulldog alumnae and old Southern money. Her credit card took a hit those first months. His mother – the Gator – informed her rather peevishly at her first outing, that she was dressed as if she came from Kentucky -

_Huh hello bitch? I AM from Kentucky!_

- and informed her quite snidely, that if she was going to date her son, she would not dress like a common strumpet!

_Huh? _

She was of the impression that Phipps Plaza was for plebeians – PLEBEIANS! for pity's sake, Genevieve had to look it up! – and they spent the following weekend in every couture shop in Atlanta. She had never shopped so much in her life!

At some point, Genevieve decided her next project was a new closet!

She had a nice condo up 400 off Ashford – Dunwoody. Not her perfect plan, but a nice start. At least, it was an upscale neighborhood. Eventually, she wanted in mid-town, but perhaps, after the sale…

Her mind returned to that. How Slayman, Raschberg, and Ficklebutte found out about her was beyond her imagination. They approached her out of the blue a month before, wanting to purchase her little firm, expand it, make it larger. 'Take stock', they said, 'infuse it with fundage, etc…' and promptly handed her a contract that made Bilbo Baggin's contract with the Dwarves in that Hobbit movie look like chump change. She immediately contacted George, who took it and disappeared, ne'er to be seen again.

Lamar brushed it off.

As of late, Lamar was brushing a lot of things off. Genevieve invested a lot into this relationship, not including the clothes. She scratched absently at her Norrel Implant site. He didn't 'trust' the pill. No. He wanted that implant, knowing she was allergic at the skin. And time. Time away from her company, when he wanted to fly to New York or Miami or Chicago, where his firm had offices. He had a bad habit of just calling her and giving her a few hours notice at best. At first, she went, because he asked, only to discover that he only expected her to look pretty on his arm for this or that. Most of the time, she was abandoned in his hotel room. Thankful for her laptop, her iPad and her sketchpad, she was able to stay in touch with her own company, but she needed to be there, not skyping conferences. Several times, she had been unable to drop everything without notice. She had clients, contacts, already scheduled meetings and as of late, Lamar was not understanding of that or very gracious about it. In fact, the last time this happened – two weeks ago – he told her flat out she simply needed to keep a bag packed in the trunk of her car. As if! It was affecting a lot of things.

Like their sex life. It was suffering. It had been a long time since he initiated sex with her and when he did, it was routine, bland. Boring.

Vanilla.

Absentmindedly, she toyed with her necklace, her silver cross. It belonged to her great-grandmother, a saint according to her grandmother. It was the only thing of value her grandmother had and she put it on Genevieve's neck the day she moved to Atlanta.

_Don't forget who you are, who made you, who gave you your gifts. Don't let any man make you think less of yourself or undesirable. You find a strong man, who will cherish you, one who will lift you up, support your ideas, keep you strong._

Truth be told, Lamar wasn't making her feel very desirable at all right now, much less cherished. She felt like a thing, an object. The last time they made love, he might as well have had a blow up doll. It was the fastest mount, dismount_, was it good for you baby_, out like a light and fast asleep she had ever experienced. Shit. He was faster than her first lover, who had been a virgin as well and barely managed to get the condom on in time! At least, that had improved over time, but this one…

It wasn't.

But they had a date tonight. She was catering in French, had just picked up scented candles, shopping at Victoria Secrets – black garters, the whole 9 yards and some naughty toys from a little sex shop a few blocks down. And the crowning touch, special order, a little black nothing sequin dress, with the silk stockings with lace tops, and black pumps with four inch whore heels that she recalled turned him into a stallion when he saw them in her catalogue in her mail on the table two months back. Along with the black silk robe and

_**Adult Toys! **_

- fuzzy handcuffs and butterfly vibe. And lube. Lamar wasn't getting her gears juiced well as of late. The last two times had been mildly abrasive and painful. Maybe a nice massage…

The bags were under her desk; there was room in her gym bag.

_**Back up plan with contract **_

Never go without a back up plan. Rule number One. Always have a 'B' plan and a 'C' plan as well. Pressing a button on the intercom, she pegged Val in her office. "Look, George hasn't gotten back with me with the contract and I'm getting antsy." Sitting on her desk, she absent-mindedly rubbed her hands down the legs of her jeans, her rhinestone ballet flat dangling from the edge of her toe.

"Would you like me to pull the original from our files?"

"We have the original?"

"George didn't get the original. I made sure of that!" She heard paper shuffling. "What kind of office manager do you think I am? Originals always stay here. Right where they belong!"

"PLEASE!" The shoe dropped, falling upside-down on the floor.

"Be warned," Val's voice was jovial. "The print I believe is a 6 point and your eyes will water."

Genevieve rubbed her temples before sliding from her desk to retrieve the errant footwear, her toe flipping it over. "Any possibility of enlarging it?"

"Tried already. It blurs."

Genevieve dropped her head. "Guess I'll be hand-transcribing."

"It would seem so, dear. So sorry."

She picked up her to do list and added to it.

_**Several notebooks to gym bag and pens. And pencils! Magnifying ruler. For Sunday.**_

Lamar did church with his mother on Sunday. A large Presbyterian church on Peachtree Street. It was too formal for Genevieve, who was raised in a small, backwoods, century old Southern Baptist clapboard with a bell in the steeple. The congregation got righteous, unlike the very formal Presbyterians. She went on occasion, to placate Mother Gator. Again, she fidgeted with her grandmother's necklace. As of late, she was hungry… but hungry for what?

Finally, the clock buzzed 5 PM. It was Friday. Off to the gym, shower and change and head home. With luck, she would beat the caterer by 8 PM and then it would be the weekend with Lamar and hopefully, prayerfully, they would get their relationship back on track. Maybe when this infernal sale was over, she could concentrate on him, his needs… and maybe she would become Mrs. Lamar Franklin Robencourt within the end of the year.

Oh.

_**Buy grandma a new home. **_

~~~…~~~

Great! She was now running late – her phone was missing and she couldn't stand the thought that it was lost. Maybe it was in the car. Genevieve prayed that traffic wasn't horrible. It was summer, many were on vacation, there wasn't a home Braves games this weekend. No concerts planned, nothing at Piedmont Park. It should be quiet. She was dressed, so all she had to do was let the caterer in and not worry about makeup. Slinging the gym bag in the back seat of her BMW, she opened the front door, to see her phone peeking up between the seat and the gearshift. Hurling herself in, she sighed a sigh of relief, plugged the phone into the car's bluetooth sound system and started the car. Navigating the circular exit was nerve racking and her greatest fear was leaving an additional scrape or rubber bumper mark on the concrete walls. She paid her fare, wished Acheem a great weekend and edged to the road.

_Busy. Backed up! Shit. _

Just what she did not need. At all. Momentarily stalled, she put on the headset and checked her messages.

_Hello Genevieve. You have three new messages and one saved message…_

That saved message was the first call she had gotten from Lamar after that first date. It made her tingle, much like her first love had. She checked the mirror, made sure everything was in place. When she needed a pick-me-up, a smile, she listened to it. He sounded so sure of himself, so confidante.

_First New Message: beeep. Miss Robinson? This is Madelynne at La cuisine française. We are confirming your service, if you would call us to verify…_

She missed it. In recent weeks, he'd become irritable, unresponsive, completely out of tune with her and her needs. He expected her to jump to his whims, but wasn't in her corner when she needed him. She really needed him now.

La Cuisine had been called that morning. Delivery was set at 7:30 unless she called to rearrange. If she could get onto the side street, she'd make it. Delete.

_Second new message: beeep. Ms. Robinson, this is Adele Grafford, George Stallop's secretary._

_Yeah, I know who you are. You're playing subterfuge with my attorney and it's pissing me off. _

_My apologies however, I was instructed to inform you that Mr. Stallop's wife passed away this morning… _

_What?_

The woman continued as if dictating a will.

_Obviously, Mr. Stallop will not be in the office for several weeks, taking care of the estate. As you know this is a small firm and the only other partner is Mr. Tallnic, however his area of expertise is estate planning…_

_SHIT! Shitshitshitshitshit! AH George! Why didn't you tell me?_

George had mentioned his wife was ill, but Genevieve didn't realize she was critical… much less… dying. Oh shit. Poor George. Genevieve met her once, nice dowdy lady she liked better than the Gator.

There was a break in the traffic, a slow to move Fiat and quickly, Genevieve bolted into traffic, causing the little beat up Fiat she cut in front of to screech and beep his pathetic little horn.

She felt sorry for the little Fiat. Several years ago, that little beat up car had been her. The light ahead was red and she beat her head against the steering wheel. She considered calling the caterer and pushing the meal back to 8:30.

_No, that would be too late and Lamar hated eating late. _

_I've taken the liberty to email you the contract, so you can hire another attorney. _

_Another attorney? At this late date? Oh geeez…. Wait. I'll ask Lamar. Perhaps someone in his firm…_

_You should find it in your inbox. I am terribly sorry, however…_

_Yeah yeah yeah. Save it and stow it. I've ticked off The Almighty already_. Still at a dead stand still, she unzipped her gymbag, pulled out her iPad. Scrolling through the sets and making sure she had a signal, she picked up her email and downloaded the contract. Maybe she could enlarge the font there.

This was bad. Her long planned weekend of romance and naked butt games was quickly being turned into a short night romp, which she did NOT want.

How much more could her life get screwed up?

The traffic began to move. Before hitting the gas, she turned back to her third message.

_Third new message: beeeep. Uhm… hi… Genevieve…_

_Hellooooo my sexy man!_

_It's Lamar. Look, I'm going to have to cancel our date tonight… this weekend. I... I had something…_

_What?_

…_something has come up… yes Mother, I'm speaking to her now. No, I do not… look, Genevieve, I'm sorry, but we're not working out. I need someone more … well… and you're busy and we're moving in different … yes Mother, can you just please… right now just isn't our time. It's not you, it's me. We move in different circles. You've got a lot going on and we just have different things going on and it's unfair to both of us. Maybe … I'm sorry, this is just hard… I'm sorry. I… have tickets for us for the Red Cross Ball in a few weeks, but I don't think it would be in… your best interests to go with me, I'll find someone… else…I'm sorry. Good luck with your new business venture. I know you'll do well. Bye._

Click

So stunned at the message coming through her speakers, Genevieve didn't realize the light turned red and she pulled directly into the path of an accelerating car.

~~~…~~~

_Come on, honey, come on honey, stay with me…please beautiful… you've got a hot date tonight, I can see it. Stay with me… please… please… we're losing her… damn, I need an IV, hand me the fib…stay with me stay with me stay with me stay with…_

~~~…~~~

Anael was always mesmerized when new limbo souls arose into the Garden. It was fascinating that few souls were 'in limbo' – most died and went on to Rashnu – Peter was really busy most of the time – and on to Judgment. But on occasion, souls that were snatched too soon or had unfinished business to tend to, were sent to this quiet, if ever burgeoning garden. To be discussed and await a time and place, but mostly a decision. To aid and regroup, or to just… let it be and allowed to pass.

So when this new orb materialized, Anael watched closely. Unlike most souls, it become visible on the footstool of Douma's seat, making it important – a life or death situation. It pulsated, the lifeforce within still strong and beating. As was her way, the angel opened her wings and with her hands, caressed the aura that surrounded it.

'Oh, you poor thing. Such heartache.'

'Yes. Such heartache.' Anael jumped, almost falling into Douma. Even after how many millennia, looking into the Angel of Death's constantly color- changing eyes made the smaller angel blink rapidly. The Angel's black wings opened fully, encompassing not only the two angels, but the orb as well. With infinite gentleness and grace, the Angel of Death reached out her hand, but did not touch, simply felt the ebb of the life force within. 'And sadly, we must make amends and amends quickly. Too much lies in flux.'

'I do not understand.'

''Ah, this is Genevieve. A decision must be made now. So much potential, cut short. It is sad, but it happens. However, forty-eight lives and those lives families are unstable and without her steady hand and the truth of what will become of her company, too much will be lost.'

'The Almighty would have plans for that, he always does,' Haamiah materialized from nowhere, curious as to why Douma and Anael would be whispering over a new orb.

'You like to play Devil's Advocate,' Douma answered drolly, not looking at the very serious angel. Sensing what was needed, the Angel tucked her black wings down, her finger directing in the air. 'It is not the Almighty's plan that this one pass. She is to live. But there are extenuating circumstances. This tragedy can be circumvented. She is not dead, not at all, although she lays on my footstool for my decision. She is gravely injured and will need many weeks of recovery. Some thing will not wait. However…' the angel motioned to Anael, 'bring her this way, I have an idea.' Levitating the sphere, the three wandered down the various paths of orbs, all of them reacting to the new life. 'She needs time to go over things, investigate things that lay within her grasp. She has been preoccupied as of late-'

'With a douche bag!'

Haamiah gasped, not seeing the small smirk on Douma's features. 'I do not think the Almighty-'

'He will forgive me,' Anael hissed under her breath. 'I will be assigned another millennia of this duty with you.'

Douma now smiled, her eyes changing colors yet again. 'Two, to be exact, but I believe Hammiah's penance will be discharged long before then.' They made a turn and Anael realized her precious dark knight lie in this direction. Quickly she attempted to sway the other two in a different direction, which worked in the past, however this particular time, it did not. 'Our little Genevieve needs a quiet place, one without the hustle and bustle of business and her… douche bag…' Haamiah gasped again, the Angel of Death focusing on her. 'Now I have penance, in order to study and clear her mind of petty annoyances. She needs to concentrate on her business venture and the outcomes, which sadly are not what they appear to be. Investigation of the written word will expose evil's true intent. She needs to be able to bring it forth and she will not be able to if she dies. So, she does not die.' Slowly they made their way closer to the darkened orb. Anael attempted to move between the Angel of Death and the row of spheres, but Douma was having none of it. 'Nor will they wish to give her much time once she recovers, forcing her to spend precious energy on things yet again that should not be her priorities. She needs to have much already at her fingertips and she must be ruthless. Rather than return her, have her heal, and then have her rushed to make a decision that could prove to be… unwise… I say we allow her body to heal in its time, in a coma, vegetative state, but send her essence, her mind, to a quiet haven to inspect and investigate the items she has and therefore when she awakens in some weeks, she will know what she has in her belongings. She can make a decision, possibly have a plan in place.'

Anael was getting antsy. Gently to her side, she waved her hand, the dark orb lowering, almost cowering beneath other brightly hued globes, now unseen. She breathed a sigh of relief.

'Send her spirit?' Haamiah was puzzled. 'There are many quiet places here.'

'Haamiah, your penance is up. Gabriel is looking for you.' In moments, the angel had risen and was gone. 'And now,' Douma smiled gently down on Anael, 'we can talk.' It was not lost on Anael that they stood in front of where the dark knight hovered hidden. Despite her attempted subterfuge, Douma waved over the grouping, separating the orbs and raising the mysterious one to the top. 'You have watched over this one for many years. Centuries.' Anael swallowed hard, nodding. Douma took in the angel's sadness and reluctance. Truth was, the Angel of Death was fond of this angel, had begged the Almighty to allow her to stay in this quiet place because she brought life to such a quiet and sometimes dismal corner. Death was not a happy place and Douma needed some joy or such to stay grounded and a reason to smile. 'I do not propose we keep Genevieve here at a table. Rather I would send her somewhere not so… busy on earth.'

'But where… Antarctica?'

Douma laughed. It was not a sound heard often and it tinkled like a bell. 'No. I do not wish to freeze her, I wish for her actual body to heal. But she needs to be alive and breathing and be able to yell and talk and reason out loud.' With this, the Angel's hand reached out and caressed the aura of the dark one.

It pulsated, sprang, lurching to life painfully, shards of ebony, gold, purple sparks igniting within, the heartbeat becoming audible. He struggled against his confines, throbbing, as if fighting himself, yearning for the caress of death. 'I have shown favor, allowing you to keep this one.'

'I know.'

'He… had much potential.'

'He had too many mountains. Too many bad influences.' Then she whispered. 'Too much against him.'

'As I recall, you threw his sister's orb at Saint Peter.' Anael blushed. It was true. She did not understand why that one was even in limbo and in a rare fury of anger, lobbed the orb towards Judgment, nearly beaning the auspicious Saint. It was the reason, in fact why Rashnu played Gatekeeper anymore. He ducked better.

Anael continued, 'Still, he did not have enough positive ones. It was a horrible time to live!'

'We sent him Marian.'

'She did not love him!' Anael was shaking in fury. 'She was flawed!'

'They are all flawed, Anael.'

The little angel continued, unhearing. 'She frustrated him, baited him. She loved another and deep down, he knew it. And yet, he forever hoped and hoped and hoped.'

'It was his saving grace. Hope.' It was quiet for a moment. 'We sent him Meg.'

Anael snapped. 'Bah! Meg hated men and he never found the compassion he needed to curry her favor. They had not nearly long enough.' The little blue-haired angel looked up, tears in her eyes. 'She cared nothing for him! He still lost his head and he still died loving Marian. Yet, he died honorably. Resigned to his fate.'

'Yes. He did. Which is why he is here.' Again Douma caressed the aura, watching the glass-like sphere jump, straining against its confines. 'Your care has kept him strong. My penance is to grant him this chance. Yes, he died an honorable death, but he still had not learned or accepted what he needed to move on. Marian was not his, never was and yet, he still clung to her. He found his compassion and humanity too late. Your passion is your gift, your love of it, and your desire is that all should have it and experience it. This one,' she pointed at the orb, making it bounce painfully to the point that Anael wished to reach out and pull it protectively to herself, 'desired power, unknowing what true power is and never being able to utilize the gifts he did have because he was not taught.' She was quiet for a moment. 'He never realized what he really wanted was to be loved.'

'Therefore,' Genevieve's orb rose in the air, higher, the orb mutating, beginning to take shape; the shape of a young woman, with long hair the color of honey. 'We will send her to him, give her to his time. There will not be as much activity for her to be involved with, so she will have time to do what she needs to do, while her true body heals.'

'If you give her to him, give him her, really her. Not something fake.' Anael was watching with rapture. 'She is a brunette.' She broke her gaze from Genevieve's body. 'He prefers brunettes!'

Douma smiled. 'This is true.' Genevieve's hair shortened and turned to her natural color of rich farm soil.

'The timing must be perfect.'

'Aye. The best time would be after Marian's death.'

'He was a basket case after Marian's death!'

'Aye, until Robin refused to kill him.' Douma tapped her lip thoughtfully. 'After he returned from John, when he began to break away from Vaisey. Reassert himself. He will be ripe. A few weeks, I can give them no more.' Douma noticed the shock on Anael's face. 'Yes. After Marian, but before Meg, before John arrived in Nottingham. When he hurt most, was deepest in his hell. He must befriend Meg! And while he wrestles with his inner demons, Genevieve's ability to take apart puzzles and rebuild them – and that is her gift – will aid him on the final leg of his journey, to true freedom.' The two angels watched as the woman rose in the air. 'She is hurting as well. Hopefully, she will reach out to him and as a result, succeed where Marian failed.' Douma was smiling at her handiwork. So very, very rarely did she restore, renew life, always charged with taking it. 'Pray she helps him find his humanity, accept what is, and aid him in forgiving himself for his shortcomings.' Genevieve's body was now fully realized, hanging in the upper air of the chamber. Slowly, greenery bloomed in the heavens, a divine forest bursting forth. Genevieve lifted into the leaves and disappeared.

At the same time, the dark one began his own journey, rising into the air, elongating, taking shape. The heavens themselves gasped, one that ruffled the hair of the two angels. Too long this one had been confined, bottled and his anger and pain rippled through the air. Ice blue eyes jerked opened, a painful breath inhaled.

'Oh, he is beautiful!' Douma stepped back. 'I see why you were so enamored with this one.'

'I am not enamored.' Anael's eyes however shown with joy and hope. 'I know who he is.' Finally, the dark knight rested full in the atmosphere and Anael's hand reached to caress the jaw. 'Ah, my lover's hair is like the raven-'

Again Douma laughed. 'I do not think Solomon had him in mind when he wrote that!'

'No.' Anael's face fell. 'They will have no time, no time for each other, will they?'

Douma realized this conversation would happen and it was not one she relished. Anael was the Angel of Passionate Love and her desire was that all beings would find the one that would set them alight. Obviously, she harbored such thoughts for these two. 'To explore fully? No. Not in his time. She will not change his destiny there. He will still die and he will still die for a cause. Question is; how will he die and what cause will he die for?'

'But-'

'Nor does she belong in his.'

She watched as the little angel's countenance saddened. 'So unfair,' Anael whispered. 'She will be so very vulnerable.'

'So will he,' Douma finished for her. 'Much more vulnerable that even he would like to think. That vulnerability will save them both. But, there is hope and there are ways. They both have enough hope to fuel the stars. It should be interesting to see what they can accomplish in a few weeks.' They watched the dark knight's visage fade, leaving a strange emptiness. She dipped her head to look directly at Anael, mischief churning churning churning in those ever changing eyes. 'We have worked hard this day and these two have work to do. I am in the mood to feast somewhere quiet and listen to David play his harp.' She took her by the hand, her touch not deadly as to man. 'I hear rumor that J. S. Bach has taken him to task and he is now being pouty.' Yet another grin widened the features, causing the angel to become more beautiful. Her eyes spun jewels like a kaleidoscope, stars and glitter racing through the depths. 'And he is breaking strings. We will check on these two later and makes plans for them, something perhaps more to your liking.'

~~~…~~~

_Nottingham, England_

_Autumn_

_The Year of our Lord 1196_

Sir Guy of Gisborne hated Mass.

Really.

In his esteemed opinion, he did not understand why one went to Mass, much less Confession. Truth be told, he no longer attended Confession. The Sheriff did, did it mostly to shock the priest, but Guy's beliefs were becoming jaded, had been jaded for a long, long time. He wondered what the fuss was about.

A land of milk and honey and music. No work. All play. He could see why the peasants would be enamored of such an afterlife. Someone else would wait on them, for a change. In the back of Guy's warped mind, he believed that if Heaven existed, more than likely, the servants of paradise waiting on the peasants would be those here who ruled and held power here. Men like himself and the Sheriff. And Prince John. That would be true Hell.

But sometimes one must appease the people and on those rare occasions, Guy would find himself on the odd Sunday, leaning on the back post of the pillar of the Church, yawning in boredom and usually, a hangover, while the priest droned on in Latin and then explained to the unwashed masses in the pews what he said.

Today he spoke of 'Manna from Heaven.'

Bread. Flung from the heavens. What rot.

If the Almighty is going to throw things from the sky, he should fling something useful. Like a rock. To hit Sheriff Vaisey. Hard! Or Robin. Or Isabella, the bitch. Or…

Or a real woman. Guy smirked at that, no one seeing as they were mounted behind him. The road was shady, few were speaking and they were whispering, so it was quiet, which is how Guy liked it best.

Aye. A woman thrown from the sky. That would make him change his mind about God. _Oh God, send me a beautiful woman with hair and legs and curves and_…

There was a crack above them and suddenly Guy's horse startled, stepping backwards and nickering in fear. What little whispering behind him came to a halt as they all looked up to see if the skies had been misread and a storm approached. There was movement above them as something…

… fell from the sky.

It raced through the boughs, sprinkling bark and smaller branches about him and the front line of his men. Something was tumbling through the branches, bouncing from side to side, the speed barely diminishing. For a moment, it hung up on one of the larger branches, slowly tipping before falling again. It grew louder as it descended and his stallion backed up without warning.

It fell at their feet, dust from the path, kicked up, leaving a small shower of spattering dirt.

Something, not small. Well, a small boulder, perhaps.

Someone was launching boulders? In the woods? Who launched a trebuchet in the woods?

Guy drew his sword, hearing the others draw theirs as well and waited, looking, waiting for an assault. When it did not come, he nodded to his right, Joffrey gingerly dismounting. "Check it."

Joffrey approached the object, lying still on the ground in front of the horses' hooves. He kicked it with his foot, waiting for it to move, before kneeling down. Cautiously, he knelt, touching it. He prodded, poked…

"Well?" Guy's voice was droll. "Do not keep me waiting."

"It appears to be a satchel of sorts, Sir Guy."

Guy feigned boredom. It was a skill he had honed for many years. He could think, ruminate, while pretending to not do so. He focused on his gloves, adjusting them. "It appears to be?" He looked up, one eyebrow cocked. "Are you sure?"

Joffrey began to fumble, turn it. "The fastenings are strange. I've not seen the like." He was now twisting it this way and that. "There are handles and something that looks like… well..."

"Yes?"

"It looks like teeth. Teeth made of silver."

Silver?

Looking up again to ensure nothing else was being catapulted, Guy then dismounted, handing the reins to the man behind him. He strode over to Joffrey, toeing him out of the way. If there were riches here, he did not wish anyone to know or see. The last thing he needed was the sheriff to get word or anyone else, truth be told, that riches were falling from the sky…

Like manna.

He stooped down, seeing, yes, the cloth bag was held together by tightly clenched silver teeth. It was larger than a rucksack, changed shape as he touched, moved it, manipulated it, as if the contents inside were not tightly packed. Setting his sword to the side, but still within reach, he pulled the handles apart, he saw a lever and grasping it, began to pull slowly in the opposite direction. It did what he suspected, a small opening becoming visible.

Suddenly, he did not wish to peruse the contents here. He decided to return it to the privacy of his room in Locksley. If there was something… anything…

There was another crack, this one bigger, heavier, louder, moving faster. He heard the men cry out and Joffrey jumped on his back, pinning him to the ground as if his meager form could protect him from whatever was being thrown at him. More branches, bark, leaves rained from the heavens before a profound weight dropped on the two men.

Guy was aware of many feet hitting the ground, running towards them. The burden was staggering, but after a moment, he managed to shrug Joffrey and the additional mess from him. "GET! OFF!" With a fury, he jumped up, grabbing his sword.

There was yet another bundle, more like a rolled carpet, laying discarded to the side of Joffrey. Grabbing the end, he yanked, forcing it to roll open.

His eyebrow rose.

"My Lord!"

"Sir Guy!"

He smiled.

"It's a… it's a… it's a…"

_Yes indeed. It was a- _

"A woman!"

"She is not dressed properly!" Joffrey sounded almost offended and began to yank at her too short dress, which didn't appear to have enough material to cover her body, much less her legs. "I see her legs!" Realizing covering her with her clothing was a lost cause, he began to throw the covering over her legs.

Oh yes. Very nice legs. For the first time in too long, Guy… twitched.

"Stop."

All movement came to a halt. Guy stood over her, looking down, looking at her. Her eyes were closed, lashes dusting sun-kissed cheeks. "We shall take her back to Locksley." He bent over making sure the case was closed, but left it in the dirt. He mounted his horse, making sure to press far back in the saddle. "Hand her up to me." It took several minutes and two men to get the woman situated in Guy's lap. She fit in his arms, one leg slung over his, the other propped on the saddle horn, showing a very nice length of thigh and black lace. He pointed with his chin to the bag still lying on the earth. "Joffrey, I suspect that is her… luggage. Retrieve it but do not look into it." Joffrey shrugged before making a face and doing as Guy bid. "Speak not of how she came. We found her in such state on the path. Obviously, Robin Hood robbed her and left her for dead." He turned in his saddle to look at his men. "You will not like it if I hear otherwise." He took the long cloak and covered her more thoroughly. Once all were mounted, they began again, slower this time, as so not to disturb the extra burden in Guy's arms. He appeared to ignore her, to not look closely as he planned to do that once he had her in a bed at his home and he could do so at his leisure without prying eyes.

Or so it seemed. Truth be, he did watch her, under hooded eyes, beneath the lashes his sister swore he stole from her.

But he made more show of watching Joffrey with the bag. As he should and as it was expected. But still, Guy of Gisborne was very aware of a delightful bundle of flesh in his arms, the warm and heavy weight pleasing.

Now. What was he thinking about before this happened? Ah yes. Manna. Manna from Heaven. Questioning the very existence of God.

_Well, obviously God had answered. And in such a gracious way!_

_I thank you Lord for the bounties you have seen fit to give to me._

**_~~~...~~~_**

**You know, there's a dirty word…**

**_~~~...~~~_**

**_tbc_**


	3. 2 - Love is Kind

_**Manna From Heaven**_

_**Chapter 02**_

_**Love is Kind**_

Guy and his outriders arrived in Locksley late in the afternoon. It was harvest and while it was Sunday, most of the villagers were preserving vegetables, fruit, and smoking meat, a smell of roast pig in the air. Under normal circumstances, the villagers were used to the odd comings and goings of not only Sir Guy and his men, but, as Guy suspected, Robin Hood's as well, so they learned long ago to simply keep their heads down and to mind their own business. They, along with the priest, were grateful he chose not to attend mass with them. Never in their wildest imaginations did they think that the mere sight of the inside of the church, the very altar, caused Guy much heartrending distress. None of them recognized how much he loved – still loved - Marian. They wouldn't have believed it! None of them realized that he hated sleep, would drink himself into a stupor because he had nightmares every single night, replaying her death, his role in it, always culminating with Hood chasing him with a curved scimitar as well as the bloodied broadsword Guy had killed Marian with and left behind.

He always woke in a sweat, crying, begging for death.

But children playing outside ran indoors to tell their parents that Sir Guy had a _woman_ lying over his lap and not only was she was asleep, she was indecently dressed. The first bit of information raised eyebrows, caused many to cross themselves, the second made them to whisper prayers for the poor, unfortunate woman; one could only imagine that the mere sight of the black knight bearing down on her with some sort of unholy wrath had caused her to faint, but the third brought them running from their homes to gawk and stare.

Because yes, she did have a goodly amount of leg showing and yes, she was cradled in Sir Guy's lap and oh yes, she most definitely was unconscious.

They rode up in front of the manor, Guy throwing a long limb over, while maintaining his grip on the woman. He slid off easily, nodding to the stable boy to take his horse to the stable and curtly reminding him to rub him down before feeding him. He cradled her close, motioning Joffrey to open the door to the manor.

He had to step sideways, to get her in without banging her head or her legs. Guy started to call for Thornton, but remembered, as he opened his mouth, that it was Sunday and Thornton wasn't there.

'Another reason to hate Sunday. There was no one to wait on him. Damn peasants for having an off-day!'

Ducking his head down, he threw himself up the stairs slightly sideways, the weight of the woman in his arms propelling him forward and upward. He bypassed his own room and continued down the hall to one of the smaller rooms, the one he suspected belonged to Robin, growing up. He kicked the door open.

It was dusty, motes flying in the air, in the small streak of sunlight coming through the closed shutters. The room smelled closed up, musty. Ah, this place was not fit for man nor beast. Small wonder Isabella demanded to stay in Nottingham. Good for him.

Turning abruptly on his boot heel, he turned back towards his rooms, Joffrey in tow with the woman's belongings.

Oh, he was sure they were _hers._ And once he got her on the bed and Joffrey out of the room, he had every intention of going through her bag. He wanted to find out who she was or what she was. Mostly he wanted to know why she was dressed so-

_Appealingly_

-scantily.

"Sir, you cannot take her to your room!" Joffrey was appalled. "'Tis not seemly."

"The second room is not tolerable for guests. Set the bag on the chair by the table and send for Fiona," he nodded curtly at the man. "Tell her I will pay her an extra crown for her services." Finally, his arms screaming from the dead weight of the woman, he set her gently on the bed, yet again taking a moment to admire that which wasn't covered.

Which was quite a bit, actually.

"What do I do with this?" Joffrey held up the bag.

Guy nodded across the room. "I said put it in the chair by the table." He watched as the guard placed the large carrier in the chair before backing up and looking over to stare at the woman. "Go. Fetch. Fiona!"

The man stammered a 'Yes, m'lord' before scuttling out of the room. Guy rolled his eyes and wondered how long it would be before he or another one of his 'trusted men' reported this to the sheriff. All were supposedly loyal to him, but Guy knew the sheriff, knew how he worked. He worked the same way. If he could employ a member of Robin Hood's gang to give him information, then no doubt one of his men or villagers kept Vaisey apprised of his own comings and goings as well. Desperate people, no matter how loyal, would do anything for food.

Or extra money. Sir Guy knew that well, having been on both sides of the coin.

Guy took a moment to throw open his window; in doing so, it gave him an excuse to watch Joffrey run across the courtyard. He had a few minutes. Fiona lived outside the village, not far, but far enough. Taking his time, he meandered back to the bed, drinking in every inch of her.

The dress – it was a dress – was outrageously low cut, showing off… oh, she was bountiful. He had heard few men complain that more than a mouthful was too much and Guy did not agree with that sentiment at all. He was of the opinion that if man truly thought that, well, the woman was simply more than the man could handle. And early on, Guy decided he liked more than a handful or a mouthful. He liked a woman a bit more... voluptuous.

As low as the top of the dress was cut, the bottom was short. It rode high on her thighs, barely covering…

_Curious. _

Guy sat on the bed, admiring, scrutinizing those long legs. He took off one glove, abusing one of the leather fingers with his teeth; it came off faster. Laying the glove beside her, he ran the tips of his fingers up her leg, starting from the ankle. They were clad in silk, something soft, sheer; however, upon reaching the upper part of her thighs, just beneath the hem of her dress, he felt a different texture.

Life with Vaisey, living in Nottingham, taught him to look over his shoulder always and he did so now, making sure the manse was still empty, with the exception of himself and this female in his bed. Again securing that the home was empty, he gently took the edge of the dress and lifted it up.

What the…

The stockings were topped with a nude colored lace. Running his finger along the top edge, he traced where her skin met the dainty material and wondered how they were held up. So far, he had not come upon the string ties most ladies used to keep their stockings held to their thighs. Suddenly, he encountered a new texture, and he lifted the dress a tad higher.

_Problem solved._

The stocking appeared to be held up by a set of black… pinchers, for lack of a better word. Out of sheer male curiosity, he raised the dress higher, seeing that the pinchers were attached more black material that went up-

"Sir Guy!" Quickly, he dropped the dress and yanking it down as far as it would go, he slid upwards on the bed and proceeded to at least look very busy searching for a head wound. As much as he cursed the interruption, he was grateful Joffrey had the courtesy to announce his return. The man stormed up the stairs, his boot falls echoing through the manse. He was obviously winded and out of breath when he reached the door.

Guy, by this time, had his fingers – one still clad in the leather glove – well into the roots of the woman's very soft hair, searching for an injury, anything that would tell him as to why she was unconscious. Finding nothing, he removed them and proceeded to remove his other glove. "Is Fiona on her way?"

"She wasn't home." Joffrey was breathing hard. "She went to visit her sister-"

"For a few days." Guy finished for him. He suddenly remembered the woman asking him for some days off – no pay, of course – as her sister was ill and her brats were running wild. He closed his eyes, a headache beginning to creep up. This left him in a huge predicament. "Joffrey, you need to make other sleeping arrangements for the evening." Or at least until Guy was able to procure someone else to clean the room and that would not happen today.

"Sir Guy?"

Guy turned stormy eyes on the captain of his armsman. "You need to make other sleeping arrangements for the evening."

"But… yes, m'lord, but why?"

The stupidity of the peasants; it was overwhelming.

"Because, she cannot sleep with me in this bed," he sneered. No. He rathered his bed partners awake and moving. And preferably willing.

"Oh." The man blushed. "You're right. Sorry." He shuffled his feet. "Uhm… do you need anything?"

Realizing that he had sat on the bed long enough, Guy stood up. "Bread, cheese, wine. For her. Bring two goblets." In recent weeks, the knight ate less and less of Nottingham's rich fare; the food not only sitting heavy in his stomach for many hours, but since returning from Prince John's in London, the fear of poison became less a nightmare and more a reality. He didn't trust Vaisey anymore, not that he had ever trusted him.

And he trusted Isabella less. His sister had grown into a selfish, inconsiderate, ungrateful bitch. Guy had procured a roof over her head, food and clothing; her husband was a squire. She had a good life. If the man ill-treated her, perhaps she needed to look closer at herself, before blaming Guy for her own poor choices. Had she been a good wife…

_Marian! Am I… was I that… reprehensible?_

At that point, Guy's heart clenched and clenched painfully. He turned from the bed, conscious that he had blankly been staring at the woman in it. Grateful that Joffrey had left him to his musings to do his bidding, Guy moved away from the bed, turning from the woman and concentrating on the room. Despite the open window, it was stuffy, stifling; closed up and suddenly, he was hot, over-dressed. With long-strides, he crossed the room and standing in front of the window, opened himself up to Hood's shamefully accurate arrows. By now, Hood probably knew that he had a guest residing in Locksley. He would be pestering the peasants, garnering information.

In a show of defiance, he yanked at the fastenings of his coat, stripping down to the loose fitting black shirt he wore underneath, a style favored by the English in the south, and slung the discarded clothing across the room. While in London, the confines, the heat, the stench of the city had been cloying and Guy gladly shed the trappings of his leather clothing, reveling in the freedom and coolness of the looser attire; in a sense, changing his look, his outward appearance, stepping away from the foolish and wretched specter he became after returning from the Holy Land. Truth was, deep inside, he was equally glad… no… relieved… to return to Nottingham, welcomed the forest and farm air.

Too bad he had been unable to capture and kill Hood and his gang. Had he accomplished that, Vaisey would be bowing to him, not the other way around. As it stood…

As it stood, Guy's days were numbered. He knew it and quite frankly, he no longer cared. The invisible noose around his own neck was getting tighter and tighter. John was as evil a taskmaster as Vaisey was and Guy's only hope was to placate both while attempting to pit them against each other. Loyalty to Vaisey gained him Locksley. Loyalty to John would gain him more.

But loyalty to John would more than likely put him in the Sheriff's crosshairs. Guy would have to tiptoe very carefully. Up until now, he had been adept at it. Truth was, Guy disliked the Sheriff immensely and detested John more. But he learned a long time ago that men who welded power and respect were not likeable creatures.

But they were respected, feared and Guy wanted that. Respect, power… and once he had that, he would answer to few people. Men, women would beg for his favor. He might even cash it all in, move to his mother's homeland, purchase something quiet…

He shook his head and backed away from the window as he heard the door open yet again. Joffrey entered with a platter and a pitcher balanced precariously on the tray. Guy made no attempt to aid the inept servant. He barely made it to the small table with the items and Guy's fears were eased when he managed to put them down without dropping anything. Ah, there were even two earthen goblets; there might be hope for Joffrey just yet.

"I'll go clear my things, Sir Guy." Joffrey cleared his throat. "I'll let Thornton know you'll need a girl for cleaning the room for tomorrow."

Guy nodded once, shocked the simpleton had the forethought to think that far ahead. Yes. There might be hope indeed. As the man backed out of the room, he wondered how long it would be before Vaisey approached him, bribed him to find out what was going on at Locksley. For that matter, he wondered how long he'd be able to keep the girl secret.

A day… two at the most, if that. Chances were, Vaisey would find out by the evening. He hoped not.

Guy poured himself a goblet of wine while waiting for the noise of Joffrey taking his things to wherever he was going to die down. The wine was good, not watered down, Guy made sure of that. He was moving up in the world, hoped to go higher, although as previously ruminated on, Guy saw that dream getting loftier and loftier.

If only Marian hadn't betrayed him. If only she hadn't tried to kill Vaisey. If only Vaisey hadn't brought her to Acre. If only Vaisey hadn't taken her into the desert, releasing her. If only Vaisey hadn't been such a ruthless bastard.

_If only... if only... if only..._

As Guy stepped further away from that horrid trip to the Holy Land, the more he convinced himself that Marian's death was Vaisey's fault. Vaisey and his schemes, his prejudices, his single-mindedness and it was Vaisey's fault that Marian was even in the Holy Land, that he forced Gisborne to bring her with them, Vaisey's fault she didn't love Guy like she would have had Vaisey not used her the way he had.

And had Hood been dead…

_A lot of 'hads'… a lot of if onlys..._

There had been a point, on the trip back, late in the evening, when Guy had seriously contemplated jumping over board, donning all of his gear to weight him down and just going over. Ending it. There had been a strange sense of… déjà vu, a faint, faint memory and the desire had been over-whelming. Sometimes, at night, he had the strangest dreams, that he had been here before, been there, done that. Each time, the nightmare ended differently. Jumping overboard and drowning. Being hung next to Hood and a strange man, who was somehow familiar. Beheaded. That nightmare was particularly heinous.

With yet another hard shake of his head, Guy drained the cup, not savoring the sweetness of the grape, before setting it down hard and looking for the bag that had been thrown down with her.

Her. She needed to wake up. He wanted a name, her name. He wanted to know where she came from, and God knows, he wanted to know why she fell from the sky. Finding what he was looking for, he set the bag on a chair and pushing the tray to the edge of the table, he unfastened the bag.

As suspected, it was full of not so tightly fitted things. He recognized cloth, but not much else. Looking over his shoulder again to ensure he was alone and that she was still unconscious, Guy began to pull things one at a time from the bag.

The first thing he pulled out were a pair of trousers, made of a heavy blue material that were not made of any tailor he was aware of, nor made to fit a man or boy. This was followed by a strange sort of tunic that appeared to be sewn on, small clothes, smaller small clothes. As with the other things he had removed, these had a scent, a sweet aroma, but this odor was musky, a scent he recognized. He had encountered _this _scent many times. This was a woman's scent – a woman who had needs and urges and gave in to them. For a moment, he crushed the garment in his hand, fighting the urge to sink his nose into them and inhale, for this scent was glorious. Regaining his wits and his self-control, he pulled his fist back, the item of clothing pulled away, to inspect them. They were purple; best not let anyone know that. Purple was an expensive, hard to come by dye, reserved only for royalty.

Perhaps she _was _royalty. Perhaps there was a reward for her return. With that thought, Guy snorted once. She was probably going to end up being a royal pain in his arse. Regardless, she either had wealth or was indulged in by someone with wealth. If this was the case, her family, protector would be looking for her. He laid these all aside, neatly.

The next item of clothing boggled the mind. There were straps, strange hooks, things that could only be likened to… cups… with wires. He couldn't begin to fathom what it as for… he hooked the garment together, and turning it this way and that, came to the startling conclusion that the item must certainly be a torture device.

There were more strange things in her bag. He pulled the opening wider, ensuring there were no traps, nothing that would bite. There was a lady in John's court who carried her small dog in a little sack that she kept with her at all times. The thing yapped and bit, a most disagreeable creature and John himself told Guy he'd like to strangle the thing.

He removed a strange notebook, many uniform pieces of lined parchment, held together by a thin wire spiral. There was a larger notebook, this one with heavier parchment, unlined. He opened it, flipping through strange drawings of stranger tall buildings, drawings of… he couldn't tell, reason. For some odd reason, he thought it could be a sort of map of rooms.

There was a long package-bookish thing, with several long parchments in it. The writing was very fine, not the illuminated art that the knight was familiar with and it was extremely small. Looking at it made his eyes hurt.

There was a case when opened, held long slender rods of wood, sharpened to small points. When Guy tested them, he discovered they left a sooty mark on the tip of his finger. There was also a glass strip that made objects appear larger when he peered through it. There was a small bag, with a similar fastening filled with round containers, paints. He picked up the bottle and read what was written on it.

_Tylenol._

Back it went, with whatever was inside, rattling like pebbles. Guy didn't know what Ty-le-nol was, but he would bet his left testicle it wasn't something he wanted to know about.

There were more things in the bag, the strangest of all. Two were black, flat and rectangular; one larger than the other. The smaller fit in his hand, with strange buttons and levers. The buttons had the alphabet and numbers, very small and difficult to see. He set that aside.

The larger of the flat boxes was similar. He began to press numbers, finally pushing a strange button with a symbol. The front lit up. Pictures, neatly arranged flooded the top, shocking the knight. He dropped it on the table, the sound clattering across the wood, and stepped back. "What witchcraft is this?"

"HEY!" The voice was definitely feminine and most definitely _not _English.

Or French or Spanish or Infidel.

Small hands pulled at him, began to grab at the case he dropped on the table. Moving quickly, she began to scoop up the items and threw them back into the bag. "What the hell are you doing with my things?" Guy had to smirk. She was spunky. She elbowed him, trying to get closer, reaching for her clothing. "You've been in my underwear?" She shook the purple undergarment at him. "Pervert!"

Guy blinked. In an instant, this corner of his manor became a dervish whirlwind of angry woman. Curses were falling from her mouth; he supposed they were curses, he couldn't understand half of what she was saying. Her accent was unfamiliar and it grated on his ears. With a much-practiced roll of his eyes, he reached around her and yanked the bag to him, holding it above his head and took his time looking her over.

She was short, that much he knew, but he hadn't realized how short. Even in the outrageous footwear, she barely reached his upper chest. Her shoulder-length hair was a dark golden brown, as were her eyes, which were flashing in fury. Standing up and looking down at her at this angle, he had a lovely view of her rather prominent and lovely attributes. As well as a-

There was a slap, a sudden sting on the side of his face. "How dare you look down my dress? What do you think I am?"

Guy lost his temper. He dropped the bag in the floor and grabbed her by the hair of the head. Ignoring her protests, he yanked her head back, forcing her to look up at him. "Be quiet!"

Her hands went to his, pulling at his fingers. "You're hurting me!"

He squeezed tighter, causing her to yelp. "Be quiet and I will loosen my hold." He watched as she gritted her teeth, but she stopped yelling. As promised, he freed her hair from his hand, but quickly grabbing both tiny wrists and forcing them behind her back, effectively pulling her against him. "Now you will answer my questions."

"No."

Transferring both wrists into one, large, long-fingered hand, his other gently stroked up around her neck, until his thumb was pressed against her windpipe. "Oh, I think you will," he whispered.

Her eyes were wide in terror. "What do you want?"

Guy nodded to the table where the strange black boxes still lay. "Unless you can convince me otherwise, I intend to call you out as a witch."

"I'm not a-"

"Oh, I do not think you are, but I will do so, if your answers do not appease me." He removed his hand from her throat, instead now sliding down the silver chain that caught his eye earlier. As he reached the bottom of the chain, he dipped his fingers between her breasts, causing her to gasp in indignation. He forced himself not to comment on the silkiness of her skin, rather lifted the object suspended from the hair-thin chain. "You are a Bride of Christ?"

"A what?"

Guy shook his head in disgust and dropped the chain, turning her loose. "That is too fine a piece for a peasant to own." Deep inside, he was going to enjoy this. He hadn't interrogated a woman in a long, long time.

Her mouth dropped in indignation. "A… a… PEASANT? Why… you… Neanderthal!"

"You are either a member of the nobility, a peasant or a Bride of Christ." He bowed slightly, a mocking smirk playing across his features, which only caused her to bow up more. "I have yet to see proof that you are any of those things." Her jaw was now flapping; small choking sounds escaping from it. He tapped his lip thoughtfully. "Are you educated?"

"Am I… of COURSE I'm educated, you moron! I have a college degree and an advanced one, at that!" One too delicate eyebrow for a man arched high. "You know, a university degree? I have a Bachelor's and a Master's in Architecture!"

Oh, this was quite enjoyable. Vaisey thought torture made people talk. Guy, on the other hand, preferred to bait and cajole. Especially women. This one was livid and bouncing up and down, causing things to jiggle. If she was this passionate in anger, one wondered… "I have no earthly clue what you are talking about. What is architecture?"

The hacking sounds emitting from her throat stopped. "What is… architecture is the creating and building of structures like homes and buildings and churches and bridges-"

"You are a builder?" Guy's eyebrow rose again in derision. She nodded. "You build homes?"

"And office buildings and high rises!"

Baiting her was too easy. Enjoyable, but too easy. Nonetheless, Guy was truly taking great pleasure in her fury. "Castles," he interjected. "Do you build castles?" He watched her jaw drop in indignation. "Fortresses? Moats?"

"Where do you think we are?" she demanded. "The Dark Ages?"

Guy turned her loose, stooping over to pick up her bag. Stepping around her, he set it on the table. He turned on her, one finger up. "Do not touch it!"

"It's mine!"

Both Guy's eyebrows were up. "Not right now, it is not. You _might_ get it back, if you continue to answer my questions honestly." He began to pull out her clothes again, hanging on to her purple small, small clothes for an unnatural long length of time. With a smug smile, he tucked them into his sword belt at his back, enjoying watching her jaw drop yet again. He continued to dig, finding the notebooks. He pulled the larger one out, opening it to the first page, the drawing of the tall building. "What is this?"

She peered at the page. "That's a draft sketch of The Strandage-Coach Building that was just green-lit for construction in two years in Raleigh-Durham. I plan to tinker with it and then put the plans and costs into the bid war for the contract."

"Bid war?"

She was nodding. "Yeah. That's when companies or firms try to out-bid each other for a contract."

_What language was she speaking? It sounded like English, but it wasn't…_

"A… firm?"

"Yeah." She was nodding as if in agreement with him. "I own an architectural firm. I have forty-eight employees…" She began to rattle about 'office space' and 'graphic arts' and Guy's head was now pounding as if someone was using a mallet between his eyes.

Ignoring her prattle, he turned the page to the weird map. "What is this?"

Her face brightened up. "Oh, that's the floor plans of my house I'm going to build when I sell my business!"

"You mean, your firm."

She was still rattling on. "…but I'm supposed to be selling it next week. And not at a shabby price, mind you."

Guy held up a finger. "You are selling it? Not your husband, or your father?"

Her brow knitted, angry furrows ridged between her eyebrows. "I don't have a husband. And it's not my father's business."

No husband? Guy looked at her closely. He figured she was his age; early to mid-thirties. Surely she should have a husband and children by now.

But she did things, knew things, had power that a woman shouldn't possess. Things… she just was not… normal. "Do you read?" he blurted. There was a reason Guy asked this. Peasants could not read. He didn't think she was a peasant. The few noble women he knew that could read had been indulged by lenient fathers who either could afford to throw money away, or like Marian, was an only child. Guy's mother could read two languages fluently and she made sure both of her children were educated as well. This woman made the hair rise on the back of his neck. It was an unpleasant, uncomfortable feeling.

"WHAT?"

Guy blinked. "Do. You. Read?" He said it as if addressing a small child.

Both fists were on her hips. "I said I'm educated! Of course, I read!"

Quietly, Guy pulled out the folder and handed it to her. "Read that."

She snatched it from him and opened it. Squinting, she shook her head. "I need the magnifying ruler." Again, that infuriating eyebrow rose. "The font…. the writing's too small. If you'll let me…" Guy had his hand in the bag, digging. Out came the bag of paints and other things. His hand went in again and he pulled out…

They were fuzzy and black, two round clasps joined by a chain. He swung one circle around on his finger. "This looks… interesting." Her look was mutinous, arms folded over her chest. "Will you tell me what they are?" Her head dipped low between her shoulders, her look as dark as any he had conjured. He shrugged. Time was on his side. He set them aside and still watching her grow angrier and angrier, put his hand back in the bag.

What he grabbed felt funny, had a strange shape and as he pulled it from the large sack, horrified her. She lunged at him, causing him to raise it above his head before inspecting it. "Ah. Something valuable?" Quickly, she returned to her spot, arms crossed and her face black with rage. He lowered his arm to inspect the object.

She charged forward again, not taking the Black Knight by surprise. He reached out, placing his free hand on her head and held her in place, safely out of her arm's reach. "What is this?" He waved it at her, still holding it above his head.

"It's a toy. An adult toy." She was now turning red with mortification. She held her hand out. "Please give it to me. This is quite embarrassing."

Guy inspected it. It was shaped oddly; a pink bulbous section along with what looked like a giant butterfly. There was a black handle with levers. Guy flipped one of the levels, only to hear it whirr and the parts move, one in a circular motion and the butterfly vibrating madly. The woman lowered her face into splayed fingers, her blush now moving up the part in hair. Guy flipped the lever to its original position. "A …toy?" She nodded her head affirmatively; face still mostly hidden in her hand. "I think I would like to watch you play with it."

"Oh Lord." It was a whisper, an intake of breath.

"I have never seen the like." She realized that this extremely tall man was standing over her, murmuring in her ear. She jerked up, her nose a mere breath away from his. She swallowed hard. "I do not believe the Lord had anything to do with it. Are you sure you are not a witch?"

"No," she whispered. "I'm not."

Guy laid the butterfly vibe next to the fuzzy handcuffs, before digging, this time looking. "Your magnifying ruler. What does it look like? Ah-" Remembering the long glass, he dug, finding it and handed it to her.

She snatched it angrily, before stalking to the windowsill. She pulled out the parchment and laying it the ledge, placed the magnifying ruler over the top.

"Where are you going and what are you doing?"

"There's no lights in this place." To him, it sounded like she said 'thairs' and 'lahts.' "There are candles in your overheads," she nodded to the candelabra in the middle of the ceiling, "and you've no lamps." She shook her head and returned her attention to the parchment, adjusting the glass. "I don't know how you see squat." She squinted, before crooking her finger at him. As he leaned over her, he noticed she scrunched up her nose as if smelling something foul. This made him snarl. Guy knew it couldn't be him; he had had a bath just the week before last. Slowly, she began-

"_Whereas, __Slayman, Raschberg, and Ficklebutte__ (hereafter known as Buyer) desires to possess and own the business known as __Robinson Architect Ltd. __owned by __Genevieve F. Robinson __(hereafter known as Seller) and property, contracts, and miscellaneous items described in __Attachment__A, and Whereas, the parties have agreed that Buyer shall take possession of the business on 10/01/2013 and …_

"Wait," Guy interrupted. "What was the date?"

"October first."

"The year."

"2013. It's next Friday."

He backed up in horror. "The year of our Lord, 2013?"

She looked over her shoulder, puzzled. "That's an antiquated term, if I've ever heard one." She saw the confusion on his face. "It's an old-fashioned term. Not been used in several hundred years." She shrugged. "Not since the Catholic Church lost power, I'd say. Long time."

Things suddenly became very clear to Guy. Rome lost power? "Are you hungry?"

Her grin was sarcastic. "Find your manners and gonna invite me now for dinner?"

Guy ignored the jab. Throwing everything haphazardly back into the bag, with the exception of the toy and fuzzy things, he motioned her to take a chair and took the things to his bed. "Have a seat and serve yourself. My servants are off today, so we have to make do."

She watched him carefully, before sitting down in front of the platter of food and setting the contract next to her. The food was plain and there were no utensils. Without a word, she broke the bread apart and put a small bit in her mouth. It was hard, slightly stale, but she was too well brought up to complain. He was right, however; she _was_ hungry. She watched as he made his way back to the table, picked up the pitcher and poured both goblets full. Lifting up his, he took a sip, before handing hers to her. "The wine is good. Try it."

She took the cup from him, taking a small sip, before sighing in relief. He was right; it was good; cool and not too sweet. He nodded to the bread and cheese.

"The fare is usually better, however-"

"The servants are off, so you're stuck with leftovers." She shrugged. "It's fine." She watched him as he sat down across from her. "Where am I? Who are you?"

His nose, which she had to admit, was the most prominent feature on his face, was buried in his goblet. Eyes like a summer storm stared up at her dispassionately and he continued to drink.

"Look, buddy. I've answered your questions, now please return the favor! One minute, I was minding my own business, on my way home from work for a dinner date and the next minute, I'm in what I guess is your bed and you're pawing through my unmentionables."

Guy drained the goblet and set it down. Finally she was asking the questions he suspected she would have asked much sooner, had he not been going through her things. "Your name is Genevieve?"

"Yes. Genevieve Robinson. Do you have a knife for this cheese?"

Guy pulled his own eating knife from his belt and pulling the platter to his side of the small table, cut several cubes for her, before pushing it back. He completely missed that she turned green. "Robinson. Son of Robin." He glared at her. "You openly admit you are related to Robin Hood?"

"WHAT?" She – Genevieve – sounded astounded. "Robin Hood? Robin Hood is a myth!" Her face suddenly lit up. "Wait! Is this the Renaissance Festival? How'd I get here?" She tapped her lip thoughtfully. "I didn't know they were doing Autumn Fairs."

Guy's headache was now growing to epic proportions. "This is no faire." Trying to get back to the point at hand, he continued. "The 'F' in your name means?"

"Faith."

_Faith. But of course. Genevieve Faith Robinson, but not Son of Robin and not affiliated with Hood's band of men and women. Oh no, that would be too simple_. "Where are you from?"

"I don't see-"

"I am trying to help you, help you get home as soon as possible," Guy hissed through gritted teeth. "The sooner, the better. Today, if possible! Where are you from?" _Pray it was a nearby convent or something simple_.

"Atlanta, Georgia."

"Alanna Jorjah?"

She scrunched up her face. "No. Atlanta."

"You said it again. Alanna."

"At-lan-ta."

"You should enunciate clearly." Guy's eyes rolled. "The convent of At-lan-ta Jorjah? I have never heard of this convent-"

"CONVENT? I'm not Catholic, you dweeb! I'm Baptist. And Atlanta isn't a convent. It's a large city in the United States." She sat back in her chair and stared at her hands. "A very large city. Several million people."

Guy gave her a blank stare. He reached across the table and filled his wine goblet again, his mind whirling with everything she said, everything she had with her and then what she had read and yes what she read was correct. He was reading over her shoulder. Draining the goblet again and savoring the gentle buzz he was getting, he set the wine cup down.

"My name is Sir Guy of Gisborne, Lord of Locksley. You are in Nottingham, in England. It is the year 1196."He ignored her gasp and continued. "Richard Cœur de Lion is England's King and I am Lieutenant and second in command to the Sheriff of Nottingham. Robin Hood is not a myth and is the bane of my existence. If you are who you say you are, if you are from where and when you say you are from, and I believe that you tell the truth, I think… no, I _know_ you are in quite the predicament." He motioned for her own goblet. "Would you like some more wine?" Not waiting for her answer, he leaned across the table and taking it, he refilled it.

"You're lying."

Guy dipped his head, a moue on his mouth. "Oh, that is not a very nice thing to say, especially after I have taken you in, fed you, gave you wine, listened to the wild tale you told me. Personally, I cannot imagine a father, a husband, or a convent allowing their daughter to own, much less make decisions about anything. You must live in hell." He found himself pelted with cheese. Once she wasted herself and he had flicked the cheese to the floor, he leaned back, scrutinizing her face. "What is truly sad is I believe you." He began to rub his index and middle finger with his thumb, thinking… thinking…

"We need to find you suitable clothing-"

"What's wrong with my clothes?"

Guy smiled mirthlessly. "They are… provocative." His smile grew larger. "The slatterns at the pub in Nottingham would throw food at you and curse you in the street for daring take their business." She gasped indignantly at that and Guy thought she would have thrown more cheese at him, if there was any left. He stood up slowly and dusted off his clothing. "Many men would consider you fair game, dressed as you are. They might pay you." He lifted a finger and cut her off. "I am going to the stable, to check on my horse-"

To terrorize the stableboy and ensure Joffrey says nothing to the sheriff

"- and while I am gone, I suggest you change into something not so... stimulating... and more appropriate." He waited a moment for his words to sink in. "We will need to come up with a suitable story for your sudden appearance. The last thing you want is for the Sheriff to become interested in you."

"And why should that bother me?"

Guy thought for a moment. "Robin Hood to you is a myth?"

"Yes."

"What does your 'myth' tell you about the Sheriff of Nottingham?"

She swallowed hard. "That he was a cold-blooded, evil, power-hungry bastard."

Guy smirked. "Your myth is kind." His smile dropped and he was all seriousness again. "Change your clothes. Now." He headed towards the door.

"Wait." He stopped and looked over his shoulder. She was bouncing delightfully. "Where is… the bathroom?" She took in his confused look. "The toilet? I need to… pee."

He nodded over to the corner. "The privy is through there." He exited the room, shutting the door, none to gently.

Halfway down the hall, he was stopped by the sound of Genevieve screaming at the top of her lungs. It was heard through the open window and by many of the villagers, who wondered what on earth what perversions the dark knight was doing to that poor, half-dressed woman.

~~~...~~~

Wonder if I'll ever have it under my tongue

~~~...~~~


	4. 3 - Love does

_**Manna from Heaven**_

_**Chapter 03**_

_**Love does…**_

Her scream was ear-splitting.

Guy drew his sword and turned. Rushing back to his room, he threw the door open, only to find Genevieve standing in the middle of the room, white-knuckled fists bunched in front of her face. He expected Hood to be there or an arrow sticking out from somewhere. "What? Who?"

Genevieve flung her finger at the privy. Before Guy could head in that direction, she heaved, "That isn't a bathroom! It's a flipping stockpot on a shelf!"

In that moment, Guy realized that she wasn't being accosted. Resheathing his sword, he gritted his teeth. "I am sorry the privy is not to your liking. It is all I have." He now glared at her, furious that he had been frightened for her. "I would suggest you get used to it," he spat quietly. With that, he turned on his heel and stormed out the door, leaving it open.

Genevieve glared at the door before stomping over to slam it shut. "I should have told him I saw a mouse!" Turning back towards the privy, she took a deep breath and marched in.

She almost screamed again when she realized there was no toilet paper.

~~~…~~~

The stable was quiet, absent of screeching females, thank God. Guy made quick work on his own charger, before giving him a carrot and going to the stall to the stallion across the way. He had sleek lines and cost him a fair amount of money, but at the time and even now, he thought the equine was well worth it. Even if the woman Guy had given the mount to didn't love him, she certainly loved the horse and in the end, he took satisfaction in knowing that.

One of the few pleasures in life Guy learned long ago was grooming a horse. Many considered it a punishment, so he made sure none of his early masters knew that he enjoyed it. It was a task he loved. There was serenity in the repetitious actions and he could think in peace without being disturbed. He sorted his priorities, made plans, long and short term, figured out problems, arranged in his mind what was important now, what could not wait and what could.

And right now, Genevieve Robinson disturbed him. Her manner of dress disturbed him; her way of talking disturbed him, her… beliefs?... her independence _very _much disturbed him. How she arrived disturbed him.

It disturbed him that he _wanted_ to believe her, that she was not of this time. Her manner of clothing, the things in her bag were definitely unexplainable, not of any culture or region Guy could name. There was no other explanation, at least, not one he could come up with. The problem was unless she was careful, someone would accuse her of witchcraft and the last thing he wanted was to see another woman dunked in the pond. The last one was bad enough! The Sheriff had been incensed that the healer escaped!

Speaking of Vaisey, he was going to have to tell him first thing in the morning about Genevieve. To _not_ tell him would bring down questions, Vaisey's wrath upon him and he didn't want that. Guy had curried that wrath many times, had been on the vicious end of it, especially where a woman -

…_Marian…_

- was concerned, but he was no sadist. But by the same side of the crown, he didn't want her under Vaisey's thumb, which would put Genevieve directly in Isabella's path. He had a feeling Genevieve was tough, but Isabella was a bitch.

Which left Guy in position of making up some story…

Or perhaps, the truth. Or some semblance of the truth. Perhaps play on Vaisey's fears or better yet, that which disgusted the man. Gisborne smiled evilly.

The stallion was now looking expectantly over his shoulder. Scratching him on the nose, Guy retrieved an apple from the apple barrel to give to him. Many times, the peasants quietly remarked that Sir Guy of Gisborne treated his horses, especially _Her _horse better than his supposed people and in that, they were right. He should sell him, or at least see that he was truly exercised, not put on a turnstile every few days and not just set out to pasture, but he didn't have the heart for it. In a sense, the equine was the last true link he had to Marian. Shutting the barn door, he knew exactly what he would tell the Sheriff on the morrow.

~~~…~~~

Once Genevieve managed to drip-dry in the…what on earth did he call it? The privy? Privy to what? Genevieve knew what an outhouse was, her grandmother had neighbors with outhouses. HELL! Her grandmother had an outhouse, but sometime before Genevieve was born, her grandfather had installed indoor plumbing. That privy was nothing more than an indoor outhouse! The only time Genevieve used the outhouse was when she was having too much fun outside to come inside to answer nature's call. At least the place had been stocked with toilet paper and reading material!

_Of course, the reading material was usually the Sears or JC Penney catalogue, but still…_

Not knowing how long she was going to have alone, Genevieve quickly pulled out everything in her gym bag and separated everything. It was unusually heavy due to the two changes of clothes and the extra things; her casual Friday work clothes and her workout clothes. Her workout clothes needed to be aired out. Shoot. They needed washed but by who knows how that was going to happen in this… if she could find a place to air them before the sun went down, she could sleep in them tonight. So with reluctance, she reached for her underwear.

After digging for a moment, she began to curse. That drop-dead sexy gorgeous hunk of medieval biker bad boy walked out of there with her underwear still tucked in his hip pocket! If someone says something to him, it would serve him right!

But it still left her stuck in her lacy thong. Crap! Not having much choice, she changed clothes, back into her jeans and white tunic top. At least it had been Casual Friday. God forbid she had had a meeting or conference and been in a business suit. The floorboards felt rough against her feet and she found her sequenced flats, dropping them to the floor and putting them on. Once she was presentable and not worried about tall, dark and probably Dom out his ass walking in on her, she began to neatly put everything else back in her gym bag, the vibrator and handcuffs on the bottom. Dear God in Heaven, she was still blushing at the thought of that man watching her play with herself. As the dress and heels went in, she wondered about her catered dinner, Lamar…

_Lamar isn't coming to dinner. . .remember? Not tonight, not ever again…_

Except tonight wasn't 'tonight'… it wasn't even today. 1196. Eleven friggin' ninety-six.

How did this happen? How did she get here? Why was she here?

Why did she believe him? This was just bat-shit crazy.

NO! This was a dream. She had fallen asleep at the wheel or… or… or…

Holding her iPhone, she climbed up on the bed and sat down. Scrolling through the prompts, she reached the last one. According to her icons, it had been played, listened to.

_Uhm… hi… Genevieve… It's Lamar. Look, I'm going to have to cancel our date__tonight… this weekend. I..._

Genevieve turned it off, her head dropping. That wasn't a dream. Dropping her iPhone in her bag, she propped her chin in her hand. The last thing she remembered was driving down International Street, listening to her messages and then…

_Horns blaring, a loud crash…_

_A car wreck. I've been in a car wreck._

"Oh shit," she murmured out loud. "I'm dead and this is hell. I'm stuck with Lamar in my iPhone to taunt me and with that gorgeous, awful man to tease me for eternity." Sorrowfully, she dropped her face to her hands. Eventually, her body gave out and she tipped over.

And that was how Guy found her. Lying on his bed, curled in a fetal position, and crying her eyes out.

~~~…~~~

Sleep did not come readily to Genevieve that night. A strange room, a strange bed, no window for air, a strange unwashed-male stench; none of this added up to a good night's rest. Sir Guy had not given up his room for his guest, no. He put her in his armsman's room, off the small armory, which was attached to the main room. A group of men were stationed there for the evening and their laughter and card playing kept her tossing and turning. As a kindness, Sir Guy had given her a pitcher of wine and a goblet, suggesting she drink it. She did so, but not before putting the chair under the latch and dragging the small table in front of the door as well. She attempted to pull the bed in front of the door, however it was too heavy for her.

Gisborne allowed her to take her bag, but not before taking everything out and keeping the vibrator and fuzzy handcuffs. He refused to give her underwear back! What he thought he would do with them made Genevieve shudder. Truth was, she didn't think he knew what they were; he only knew it embarrassed her and he did it on purpose.

Douchebag!

Somewhere in the night, things did quieten down and Genevieve did mange to fall into a restless slumber.

"_Genevieve!"_

"_Val?"_

"_Yes. I need to talk to you!"_

"_Go away, Val. I'm dead."_

_Val chuckled. "No you're not, but I need to talk to you. Just for a few."_

_Genevieve rolled over, seeing her Office and Lead Project Manager sitting on the table. "Val? Really! I've died and gone to hell. It's awful." Genevieve started to sit up and tell her about Lamar and the wreck, but the woman waved her hand. _

"_No, you're not dead, but you need to listen to me. You have things to work on, to study while you can, while it's quiet."_

"_Val!" Genevieve began to wail. "Lamar dumped me. He couldn't say it to my face! He broke up with me in a voice mail!" She sniffled hard. "He's going to take someone else to the Red Cross Ball. I already bought my dress!"_

"_Lamar is a shit, Genevieve. He's not worth the salt in your tears, so don't cry and don't grieve. He was never meant for you and not good enough for you. What you've got in your hands right now is much better!" Tissue appeared in Genevieve's fingers._

"_Tissue?" Genevieve blew her nose. "Snot-laden tissue is better than Lamar?"_

_Val inhaled and shook her head in disgust. "You need to straighten your priorities out, chickie-poo. That's why you're where you are. To sort your priorities! Concentrate on the important things and that panty-wipe isn't important! Now listen up and repeat after me. You are not dead."_

"_I am not dead."_

"_You are not in hell." _

"_Yes, I am."_

"_GENEVIEVE!" _

"_Alright." She sighed and slumped. "I am not in hell."_

"_Trust Sir Guy."_

"_Trust…but he's a dickweed! A hunky dickweed but-"_

"_Genevieve! Would you like to fix things and come home sometime soon?"_

_Genevieve hung her head and mumbled. "Trust Sir Guy of Dickweed."_

_She felt soft hands on her face, lifting it to look into Val's ageless face. "Trust Sir Guy."_

"_All right. I will."_

"_Do not trust the Sheriff. Do not trust Isabella. Do not trust Robin."_

_Genevieve jerked her head from her friend's hands. "Who are these people?"_

"_People you do not trust. Do as Sir Guy instructs you to do. As long as you do not agitate him, go against him, he will do his best to keep you safe."_

"_Don't agitate the douche bag. Trust him, but no one else!" Genevieve slouched again. "Anything else?"_

"_You have your work, child. Concentrate on it." Val patted her on the knee. "The sooner you finish it, the sooner you can come home. But do not be in a huge hurry. Enjoy yourself." Val stood up. "Remember, you are as strange to these people as they are to you. You need to fit into their world for a little while. And as for Sir Guy, his heart is broken as well; as broken as yours. More so, in fact. Shattered and he does not begin to know where all the pieces are or where to begin to look to pick them up. He does not know who to trust, who to believe. Remember that. Now, lay down." _

_Genevieve did as she was told, pulling the scratchy quilt over her. She closed her eyes. _

"_VAL! Wait!" _

"_Yes?"_

_Genevieve held up the wadded tissue. "Can I have a lot of this? These people don't have toilet paper." _

_She fell asleep to giggling_.

~~~…~~~

The next morning came too early, as usual. Guy's head was pounding from his over-imbibing of wine, but that was becoming habit. If he was lucky, yesterday had been a dream and there wasn't a strange woman from a time not come, not in Joffrey's room, off the guardroom.

After getting dressed, he stomped downstairs, Thornton waiting for him.

Guy actually _liked_ Thornton, even though the man had been the steward for Robin and Robin's father. He was courteous when Guy took over when Robin disappeared in the Holy Lands, as well as when the Locksley Lands had been given back to Gisborne upon Hood's being declared an outlaw. The time or two Guy had asked for the man for advice, he had gotten it – sound, fatherly, and thoughtful. He treated Guy with respect, something Guy craved and he didn't get the feeling it was a fake deference. He certainly didn't get it from anyone else.

So as he went down the stairs, his mind on what the Sheriff might have for him and convinced yesterday had been nothing more than a drunken dream, he was disappointed to see the table set for two.

With two flagons.

"Good morning, Sir Guy. You slept well?"

"As well as could be expected." Guy walked around the man and pulled out his chair.

The man began to pour the mead. "I have taken the liberty of arranging a girl to fill in for Fiona for the next day or two. At least until your guest is settled."

"Good."

"We will concentrate on preparing the room down the hall for her."

"Fine." Well, what else was he supposed to say? "Why two pitchers?"

"Yours has something to ease your headache."

This made Gisborne sit up and most unhappily. "You have been drugging me?"

Thornton closed his eyes. "Might I speak candidly, Sir Guy?" Not really waiting for an answer, he continued. "The amount of wine that disappears each night is substantial, however it is not my place to mention it nor would I. However," with this, he opened his eyes, his eyes clear and sympathetic, "I can imagine drinking that much would give you a headache. Your eyes squint in the morning light, sir. It's obvious." He shrugged. "It's a remedy my wife used the few times we celebrated at weddings a bit too heavily."

Guy had to admit, when his hangover had been wretched, it dissipated quickly after drinking the morning mead. Nodding his thanks, he pulled over the platter of cheese and bread. No sooner than he had settled into eating, the guardroom door opened. Genevieve slithered out, wearing her outlandish trousers, which looked as if they had been painted on and the white tunic. Her hair was mussed and she slid into the chair next to Guy, her eyes squinting against the morning sun. Without a word, Guy pulled her goblet over and poured some of his doctored mead into it. "Good morning, Genevieve," he cheerfully announced loudly, causing the older man's eyebrow to rise. "This is my steward, Thornton."

"Shaddup." Genevieve's head was now in her hands. "That was for Sir Guy, not you, Mr. Thornton. I'm pleased to meet you." Without looking up, she held out her right hand, waiting for the man to shake it. When it didn't happen, she waved at him and continued on, "Can I get two eggs over easy, some bacon, dry whole wheat toast and coffee. Lots and lots of coffee."

Both men stared at her. Thornton cleared his throat. "Lady Genevieve, we have cheese and bread on the table. I can bring you some fruit, if you wish." Genevieve nodded at that. "If you will drink the mead Sir Guy has graciously poured for you, it will help your headache." With this, the man turned and glided from the hall.

Genevieve answered with a jaw-cracking yawn. "Is there something in the mead?"

"Yes." Guy was inwardly amused at the glare he received from her. "We need to talk."

"We did that yesterday."

Gisborne smirked at her response. Thornton returned with a bowl of apples and pears. Palming one of the apples for himself, Guy pushed the bowl over her way, waiting for Thornton to leave. "We need to talk."

Genevieve now had an apple of her own, inspecting it for a point of attack. "I am listening."

Guy completely skipped morning rituals with manners. "I am going to Nottingham for the day. You will stay here and stay out of trouble." She snorted at that. He, of course, had no idea that she had had the most amazing dream the night before and she was seriously considering taking her office manager's word for it and following her instructions. "While there, I will obtain suitable clothing for you." He got another sideways eye-roll from her. "I will also inform the sheriff of your presence."

Genevieve shot up at that. "You said he was-"

"I know." Gisborne was now snarling. "He has spies everywhere and if does not already know by now that you are here, he will within a few days at the most. It will not bode well for either of us if he finds out second hand. Best he hear it from me." He was shocked when her hand began to brush the arm of his shirt.

"Dust," she explained. Again, she wrinkled her nose as if smelling something wretched. This set Gisborne's teeth on edge. Why did she act as if something smelled rotten?

"While I am gone, you are to stay close. I would prefer you do not leave the manor, however if you must wander, stay within sight of it. If anyone asks you of anything, simply tell him or her you were accosted and robbed on the road, your belongings were stolen and you do not remember anything save your name, which would be _Lady_ Genevieve. Anything more would be unwise." Having finished with his meal, he stood up. "Be here in time for dinner. I do not wait and I will not ask Thornton to hold it up for you." He started to tell her that he was leaving Joffrey behind for her, but decided not to. She was being watched; no need to let her know of such. If she were up to anything or a spy for Hood…

Except he was sure she wasn't …

But he had been assured that Marian wasn't gallivanting with Hood, only to discover she was…

There was never an us. We will never be! I love Robin Hood; I'm going to marry Robin Hood…

Without warning, Guy leaned over her chair, his nose in her face, demanding her attention. "Do not test me, _'Lady'_ Genevieve. You are a guest here. You could easily be a guest in Nottingham." Before Genevieve could say anything, he turned and grabbing his jacket, threw it on and began to buckle the front, while leaving the manor.

For a full minute after he left, everyone in the main room held their breath. In fact, it wasn't until the thunder of hooves, announcing the departure of Gisborne and his guardsmen, did the collective whole breathe a sigh of relief.

"Is he always this... difficult?" Genevieve gasped for air. The heavy weight in the room, lifted with each inhaled breath.

"Oh," Thornton intoned solemnly, "Sir Guy was very much in the good mood this morning." Genevieve's jaw dropped. "Quite jovial, actually."

Genevieve turned to look at the man now sitting on her right side. Joffrey reached for the trencher filled with bread. "Jovial? That was… jovial?"

Joffrey was now stuffing his mouth with bread. "Oh, aye. Normally, he don't say two words to us. I think Sir Guy likes you. That's a relief." Thornton nodded in agreement.

Genevieve exhaled loudly. Liking her was the last thing she wanted him to do.

~~~…~~~

Genevieve was quickly realizing she was out of her element. Soon after Guy left and she finished her meal, she attempted to help clear the table, only to be kindly admonished that as a lady, she was not allowed to do menial tasks. Thornton then informed her she was to refer to him as Thornton, not 'Mister' Thornton – the man had no clue what 'Mister' meant.

The young girl arrived to clean what would be Genevieve's room while she was here. She truly was no more than a girl; fifteen at best. Her name was Eleanor – named after the Queen, she was – and she was horrified that Genevieve wished to help her. Apparently, Sir Guy was to pay her an entire half crown for helping while Fiona was gone and if he thought she was shirking her duties, not only would she not get paid, she might be made an example of and her family needed the money. She actually went as far as to shove Genevieve out of the room and shut the door in her face!

Joffrey, who seemed to be glued to her side, just shrugged.

It then occurred to Genevieve that she could use this time, without Sir Grumpybutt hanging over her and scrutinizing every move, to work on that contract. Val _did_ say to use this time wisely, but to have fun and enjoy herself.

Enjoy herself? This place smelled rancid! Like no one bathed, or flushed a toilet.

Apologizing to Joffrey for commandeering his room – he shrugged again – she took her bag to the main table and pulled out the spiral notebook and the contract, along with a mechanical pencil and the magnifying bar.

Joffrey, who had been ordered to say nothing, least he find himself with his tongue cut out, turned white when she extracted her strange implements.

Thornton ignored her.

Genevieve was a visual learner. When she was in grade school, she discovered that if she wrote things down, copied them and put them in a dialect she understood, she remembered them better. It worked in church, when the old preacher demanded that everyone read from the King James Version and none other. (He seemed to think John the Baptist read the KJV!) Shakespeare drove Genevieve up a wall and this was the only way she could learn it. This worked especially well when she took European Literature in high school and college. But it especially aided her when she took Copyright Law and worked with several contracts that had a too small font, before she was able to afford George. It was time consuming, painstakingly slow, but it worked.

She opened the notebook, put the magnifying ruler on the contract and began to write.

"_Whereas, __Slayman, Raschberg, and Ficklebutte__ (hereafter known as Buyer) desires to purchase and own the business known as __Robinson Architect Ltd. __owned by __Genevieve F. Robinson __(hereafter known as Seller) and said property, contracts, and miscellaneous items described in __Addendum__A, and Whereas, the parties have agreed that Buyer shall take possession of the business on October 1st, 2013 and agreed to the following terms…_

Genevieve's eyes were burning with strain. The natural light was poor and this was going to take forever. With a growl, she slammed everything together, causing Joffrey to jump in the corner. The main door was open and the light was bright. She had half a mind to drag the huge table over by the door, but thought better of it. The last thing she wanted was to scratch up the floorboards. Or upset Thornton.

Or tick off Sir Sexy-pants!

Besides, the air was stifling; the smell of the home borderline gagging. How anyone could stand to stay in it was beyond her. Grabbing an apple and some cheese – she was going to be sick of cheese when this was over – she gathered her things and headed out the door.

The place, the square, if one could call it that, was bustling with people, mostly children, with the occasional stray animal. It smelled like a barnyard, which Genevieve could tolerate. They all stopped to stare at her.

"You are as strange to them as they are to you," Genevieve quietly mumbled to herself. "Just remember that. You are strange." She smiled gamely and nodded to the nearest person, who appeared to be a boy about ten years of age. "Hey there, young man. Can you tell me of a quiet place where a girl can get some peace and sunshine?"

_And doesn't stink like an army latrine?_

"Yer legs are covered," the boy noticed most obviously. "Why are y'wearin' man's trousers?" His accent was quite thick and he was difficult to understand. "Yew dress weird. Not like a girl at all!"

She opened her mouth to tell him that she was not dressed strangely when she remembered what Guy told her to say. "I was robbed and whoever robbed me took pretty much everything."

"Weren't Robin Hood," the boy announced loudly. "He'd only want yer jewels and money. He don't take no clothes." He pointed to her jeans. "Wot yew call them things, anyway?"

Feminine ego reared its ugly head. "Why," she smiled, "these are called 'Skinny Jeans'."

The boy's friends had by now joined him. "Wot yew wearin' 'em fore? Yer not skinny!" His friends seem to think that was quite funny.

"Rob!" The swat came from nowhere. "Mind your manners!" The woman, who was old before her time, turned to Genevieve. "M'lady, I apologize. Sometimes, his mouth gets away from him." She dipped her head. "He don't mean no harm. Please don't tell Sir Guy. He'll make an example of him."

Genevieve felt sorry for the woman. She wondered what kind of an example one could make of a child. "No harm done." She looked over her shoulder to her rear end. "They _are_ pretty tight! I imagine I look pretty freakish to you." When the woman sagged in relief, she continued. "And it's Genevieve." Reconsidering, she added, "Lady Genevieve." She ran her tongue through her mouth. That felt weird to even say it. "Look, I'm looking for a quiet spot away from -

…_the stench…_

- the noise and plenty of light. I'm hoping a peaceful surrounding will… you know… help my memory. I don't remember much," Genevieve added sheepishly.

"Oh, the pasture would probably be your best bet." The woman turned and gave Genevieve directions out behind the barn. After giving the woman her thanks, she continued. "My name's Gode. I promise you ma'am, I'll punish him for his mouth." With that, she turned away, with the boy in tow, pulling him by his ear.

"You should let Sir Guy punish him, m'lady," Joffrey had been close by and overheard the entire exchange. "That would teach him some manners."

Genevieve realized that this could turn ugly. "Do not. He is a child and he is naturally curious."

"Still-"

"If you tell, I will tell Sir Guy that I had a lovely walk through the forest by myself this afternoon, and had the most delightful conversation with Robin Hood."

"Didn't see a thing, m'lady. Lovely day for a walk and a sit in the pasture, in'nit?" He scrunched his face in consternation. "Wait a minute. Yer not supposed to know I'm keepin' an eye on you."

"I'm not stupid, Joffrey."

"Didn't think you were."

And the two set off to the pasture.

~~~…~~~

In the end, it was a good thing Joffrey came with her. Three times, he steered her away from manure piles and such. She almost stepped into the first one and it was quite large. This upset her, seeing how she had been raised on a farm, but there had been few animals. Mostly land and the tractor, as well as a few horses and mules. The sheep were largely uninterested in the woman sitting by the tree, writing carefully in her tablet. The horses were equally uninterested, save one chestnut stallion with the sweetest legs and most curious nose. Several times, he came to Genevieve, poking at her tablet, sniffling through her things, mostly Genevieve's hair. When Genevieve attempted to eat her apple, the horse suddenly became her best friend. After two bites and constantly pushing the assertive equine away, Genevieve finally gave up and gave him what was left of the apple. Temporarily satisfied, the stallion wandered off, munching contentedly.

"He's beautiful," Genevieve murmured to her rather easy-going guard dog. "Does he have a name?"

"Don't remember wot he's named." Joffrey replied.

Genevieve managed to get a few more words down. "Who owns him?"

"Sir Guy does."

"Oh."

Genevieve returned to work on her contract. There were flies, insects…

And that horse that belonged to Sir Guy wandered back and continued to pester her. In between the legal-ease and the nosy horse, Genevieve's work went slowly but she wondered…

_What on earth did Sir Guy of Gisborne need with a stallion that obviously was NOT a warhorse?_

~~~…~~~

It had not been a good day. The Sheriff wanted a hanging and there was no one to hang. John's emissary was pressuring Vaisey for money, the lost taxes. The Black Brotherhood also weighed heavily on the man's mind. Guy spent the day shaking down people who had no money, for money.

How had he come to this? This wasn't what he expected, planned. But since when did his life work out as planned? He _was_ a knight - granted a Black Knight – but landed now, property, had a family title. He should have been married by now, married to _her._ There should be children; _she_ should be ripe, ripe with his heir…

_Should be._

He had wealth. Plenty to support a wife and family. He had a home, so longed for. He should be happy.

_Should be._

But he wasn't. Not at all. There was no wife, no child, no heir, nothing to look forward to at night.

Instead, he stood in front of what had been _her_ apartment, her rooms here at Nottingham. He hadn't been in her dwelling, had avoided this wing since… since…since…

_Since he had done the unspeakable, had committed the most heinous of crimes._

Taking a deep breath, he reached out for the handle and opened the door.

There was dust, so much dust and as he stepped into the room, it stirred up, swirling. And in that spot, where she let him hold her that one, precious time, it swirled into the shape of a woman.

_Please stay. Please stay and make this place bearable._

The motes settled, the shape…

_Without her, my world might as well turn to ash._

And like ash, the phantom dissipated and disappeared.

So, that much was true. His world right now had turned to ash and dust and unforgivable memories. And Guy of Gisborne was completely unsure on how to change it back to normal. He wasn't sure if he wanted to change it, wasn't sure if he wanted to even live. Death held a certain beauty, a certain allure.

_You know, Gisborne, Vaisey wants a hanging. Offer him your neck..._

_And what will happen to Genevieve? _

_Gisborne! What happened the last time you tried to save a woman? She made a fool idiot out of you!_

No. Right now, this minute…

He inhaled deeply and opened the trunk at the foot of the bed and was immediately assaulted by a residual scent; her unique smell. More memories assailed him and mentally, he pushed them aside. Folded neatly, were Marian's things, those he hadn't packed for her when they took her to the Holy Land. He recognized all of it – he had purchased them, felt obligated after burning her house down and everything she and her father owned with it. Genevieve was shorter than Marian and curvier. Perhaps however, these would fit. For not the first time, he wondered how Genevieve got here, why she was here, how long she was going to be here, was she a dream, a figment of his imagination. He slung the saddlebags on the bed.

He took the clothing out by the handful, laying it all next to the saddlebags. Strange, he could _see _each piece on Marian, ghosts, spirits of his memory. She wore this when she rode, this during the Count's visit, when she wore those low-cut gowns. This, she wore when Winchester demanded her… when Hood kidnapped her and held her in a tree…

_You're safe. You're coming home with me. I've got you…_

"Ah Gisborne! Taking a trip down memory lane?"

Guy almost jumped. Almost. He had gotten very good at masking his emotions. Clenching his fist under the clothing, he continued to go through the garments, taking what would be necessary and putting aside that which would not be feasible. That would include that dress. However, on second thought… "No." He moved the rejected clothing to the stack he would pack.

"You are into women's clothing now? Or giving them to the poor?" Vaisey went to the other side of the bed, so he could see Guy's reaction and a finger tapping his lip. "A clue. I don't think so." He wagged the digit.

Guy smirked and cocked an eyebrow. "I have an unexpected guest."

"Really?" The look on Vaisey's face told Guy he already knew Guy had a guest. "A woman who would stay with you? Isn't she the brave soul. "

Guy ignored the jab. Most definitely Vaisey knew. Guy wondered which one of his men told? "It is the strangest thing," Guy continued to separate clothing, as if the sheriff said nothing. "We found her lying unconscious on the road yesterday, obviously robbed and left for dead."

"What?" Vaisey didn't know that part. "Was it Hood?"

"I suspect so." Guy continued to work through the clothing. "Lady Genevieve has little but the clothes on her back." _And not very much of those. _

"Really? _Lady_ Genevieve?"

"Yes."

"Interesting." Vaisey watched as Guy began to tie up the things he had chosen. "Have you notified her next of kin? Her husband? Father? Sent a messenger?"

"She does not remember much, save her name."

"Ah." A finger went up. "Perhaps she is not a lady, but a peasant in disguise."

Guy gave a slight smile. Here was where he was hoping to play on Vaisey's weaknesses and he prayed he could pull it off. "She is educated. Well educated. She reads, she writes, and I suspect she can keep mathematical records."

The look on Vaisey's face was remarkably disgusting, just as Guy hoped. "Educated? She has proven this?"

"Yes." _Do not ask me how._

"What a waste of money."

Guy's look of repugnance was black. He hoped his disgust with Vaisey would pass as disgust for the woman currently residing in his household. "Aye and not only that, she is opinionated and lets everyone know what she thinks." Well, that was not a lie.

Vaisey looked as if he had eaten something sour. "How revolting."

"She attempted to redirect my staff this morning, drank way too much wine last night and had a hangover, and-" Guy leaned forward with a snarl, "she talks incessantly. I cannot understand half of what she says nor does she shut up."

Vaisey was shaking his head mournfully.

"I suspect her father or husband is glad to be rid of her. Or at least, happy of the peace and quiet." He picked up the chosen garments and began to pack them into his saddlebags. He wanted to embellish the story; he couldn't wait to get to leave his own manor this morning, she was ugly, stank of pig, her hair was cut short, showing clearly that she was disobedient, but Vaisey was already leaving Guy to his own devices. The less he said, the better.

"Then I suggest you keep her occupied and away from me!" He spun a pointed a finger. "Keep her out of Nottingham!" His finger froze. "You know, Gisborne, it is good if you get over Marian, but don't forget what a woman is." With that, he left the room, '_Lepers, the lot,_' echoing in the hall.

Guy retrieved more from the trunk, finding and setting aside her bag of soaps and scented oils, before finding a small, blackened chest in the bottom. It was the only thing that survived his angry torching of Marian's house. Opening it, he found Marian's jewelry. She had very little, save a few rings and…

Her betrothal ring; the one he gave her. He had hopes and dreams when he had it made for her, such dreams. He first thought to take it, but then his eye caught something at the bottom of the chest. Reaching down into the depths, his fingers clasped the cool metal.

The necklace was beautiful. It was plain, simple silver, but the links were even, perfectly matched. _This_ had gained him the one prize he thought worthy. It also cost him and cost him dearly.

_When you left, I thought I 'd lost you for good. Perhaps it would have been better if I had. _

Perhaps, nothing. It _would_ have been better.

With much reverence, he put both the necklace and the jewelry casket back in the trunk. By rights, they were his and at some point, he would have to decide what to do with them. He closed the lid and he rose and once he placed the bag of toiletries into his carrier, he began to fasten the buckle on his saddlebag.

Before he could finish, his sister sauntered into the room. Isabella was a stunning woman and she knew it. But she was also two-faced, would stab you in the back if she thought it would elevate her.

"I heard you have a woman."

Guy ignored her, focusing on the buckles. "I have a guest."

"She must be very stupid, very ugly, very lonely, or very desperate."

Guy shouldered the bag and turned on his sister, looking down at her from his great height. She shrank, just a bit, which made him feel that much taller. "Very intelligent, very beautiful, has my armsman and my steward wrapped around her finger and very opinionated."

And with that parting shot, Guy left with his ghosts and demons and feeling rather smug.

_**~~~…~~~**_

_**I'd love to try to set you free…**_

_**~~~…~~~**_


	5. 4 - does not envy

**Manna from Heaven**

_**Chapter 04**_

…_**does not envy**_

When all was said and done, Genevieve was unhappy about the slowness of her work. Between Joffrey trying not to be obviously looking over her shoulder and Guy's lonely horse putting his nose in the middle of everything, the only thing Genevieve had 'translated' so far was that she was selling her business for a tidy sum.

But she already knew that.

What she didn't have written guarantees of was what was going to happen to her employees, their retirements, and the stock she released quietly specifically to fill their pension plans with. Yes, there were verbal promises, assurances, but she wanted - and would - see it in writing. There was something… slimy and insincere about Al Ficklebutte. He just didn't sit well with her. Every time he shook her hand, hell, every time she was in the same room with the man, she wanted to bathe afterwards.

As for a bath, she was definitely going to want one tonight. If a pot under a cutout slab of wood was what these people called a toilet around here, she wondered what they called a bath.

Hopefully, not the pond in the middle of the village. She would scream.

And that would more than likely set her 'generous' host off completely.

Speaking of her host, she wondered if he would return, if he had returned and if he had, would he send someone out looking for her. Or perhaps, he would be relieved she was gone. She started to ask her watchdog if he knew the time, before remembering he wouldn't have a watch on. And she hadn't noticed a sundial anywhere in the town square.

"How do you tell the time around here?" Genevieve's stomach was growling and she was hoping it was close to dinnertime. With an inner smirk, she thought it would be humorous if she didn't wait dinner on Sir Guy, rather than the other way around.

"Sun position mostly." Genevieve had to admit that Joffrey was not a bad sort. She could have had worse babysitter. "Although, it's cloudy now. Looks like rain. Dunno wot time it is. Close to dinner, I figure."

"Well then," Genevieve gathered her things and stood up, "I suspect we'd best get back to the hall." She waited until Joffrey stood up. "Hopefully, my room will be cleaned out and you can have your room back." The two started back towards the town. "I thank you for the loan of the bed. I hope you had a place to lay your head and didn't have to sleep in the barn."

Joffrey blushed at the unsuspected thanks. It wasn't as if anyone ever thanked him for anything before and the fact that Sir Guy's lady guest had thanked him for a room not fit for a lady made him feel really good. "It were no bother. No bother at all."

As they left, they were both unaware that they were being watched.

_~~~…~~~ _

John and Much stood deep in the trees, watching the goings on in the field.

"I don't like it! Not at all."

"Who do you think she is?" Much appeared most interested. "Friend or foe?"

"Who cares. She's stayin' with Gisborne," John snarled. "She can't be a friend."

"But she just showed up out of nowhere." Much was chewing on a bone. "We'da seen her had she been on the road." They continued to watch as the two picked their way to the edge of the field. "She sure is dressed funny."

"Ain't natural!"

"Funnier than Djaq, actually." Much's voice dropped off in a whisper, causing John to strain to hear.

"Still, we'll tell Robin when we get to camp. Someone here in Locksley will tell Robin what they know."

_~~~…~~~ _

Genevieve was getting better about dodging farm animal dung. Really, she thought to herself, after being raised in rural Kentucky, she should know better! Surely Atlanta City living hadn't gleaned the country out of her! Perhaps, if she were lucky, she'd get to ditch the permanent guard. They managed to get back to the manse just as Sir Guy and his entourage were arriving from Nottingham. Feeling uncomfortable under the man's gaze, she ducked her head and ran inside the Hall, hoping that her room was complete.

She met Eleanor coming down the stairs with a bundle of laundry. "Your rooms are finished, my lady," she bobbed, making Genevieve feel even more uncomfortable. "I'll bring up your bag when I finish with this," she nodded once at the load of linens in her arms. Not wanting to bump into Guy, Genevieve nodded her thanks and hurried up the stairs.

Her room, she supposed, was the one with the open door, almost across the hall from Guy's chambers. Tiptoeing softly, listening to the noise outside and down in the hall, she stepped into her assigned quarters.

Eleanor, for her youth, had done herself proud.

The furnishings were sparse; a neatly made bed, not meant for two, _(thank you, Jesus. I do not want anyone feeling welcome besides me! I don't want to entertain anyone feeling welcome or me wanting to welcome…)_ a large fireplace which was the main focus of the room. There was a table and chair by the window, which held a view of the pasture Genevieve had spent the day in. Thin gauze hung from the window, blowing in the breeze, giving the room an airy feel, matching linen suspended in the rafters of the ceiling. There was a small nook in the corner that held hooks, a few suspending racks and the chamber pot. There was no privacy screen or door and a quick look showed there was no lock on her chamber door. Eleanor had tried to bring a feminine touch to the room. Several flagons were scattered about; on the table, the fireplace mantle, the nightstand, filled with cattails and late lavender. Upon closer inspection, Genevieve's gym shorts and t-shirt, which she had slept in the night before had been laundered and were folded neatly on the bed. There was no dust and it was apparent the bed curtains had been freshly beaten.

"I hope this will suffice."

Genevieve jumped at the unexpected baritone voice. She turned around in time to see Guy drop his saddlebags on the bed. With the quick efficiency she was beginning to expect from him, he began to unbuckle the fastenings. "I understand one of the village boys insulted you this morning. If you will tell me who it was, I will take care of it."

"Don't!" Genevieve gasped. "He's just a boy, curious about what he didn't know or understand."

"Still I-"

"I was not insulted." She watched as bright material began to make its way to the bed. She realized he had brought clothing, as he said. "Surely, you were a boy once, curious and into things."

"And had my ears boxed for it, many times," Guy murmured. "I learned."

"Well, his mother boxed his, so you don't need to!" She reached out to caress a swath of red. "Oh, that's pretty."

Guy smirked, continuing to unload the items. Sometimes, second thoughts were… worth it.

He continued in silence, Genevieve pulling things over, looking, inspecting. Her eyebrows went as high as they could go when the soaps and oils came out. She snatched those, putting her nose to gleefully inhale the floral scents. She heard a snort and looked up to see Sir Guy standing with his arms crossed, one hip cocked, watching her closely. "What?"

He looked down, shaking his head. "It does a man good to see a woman who truly appreciates his gifts." Although the tone was mocking, an attempt at light-heartedness, Genevieve sensed the hurt that was hidden deep within.

Attempting to keep the mood elevated, Genevieve toasted up the soaps. "Well, here's to not smelling like a pig-sty!" Seeing again that lop-sided smirk the man obviously called mirth, she continued. "So where is the tub in this place so a lady can take a bath on a regular basis?"

The bags were now empty and Guy shouldered them. "End of the hall. Make sure you let Thornton know so water can be heated." Genevieve's face fell. "What?"

"I forgot," she whispered. "There is no indoor plumbing here."

His head tipped, the question on his face. "Indoor plumbing?"

Genevieve shook her head, shame-faced. "Sorry. A luxury from home."

"Ah." With this, he backed up, heading towards the door. "Perhaps, I would like to hear more of this 'home' of yours and the luxuries you miss sometime." The quiet steel-edged command was obvious. He_ would _hear about her home, pick her brain, ask a million questions and she doubted he would believe a word of it. And most likely he would do it tonight. For some reason, she felt it would be an interrogation of sorts.

Eleanor chose that time to slide into the room, Genevieve's bag in hand, She gave Sir Guy a wide berth, staring at the floor, before coming to stand next to Genevieve. "I will help you with the clothes, my lady. Put them away and such."

Guy looked at both, one cowering in… fear, the other, seeming to be… resigned to fate, whatever fate would bring her. "Dinner will be shortly. Dress appropriately." The two females focused on the clothing on the bed, listening to his spurs click from the room and across the hall. They both exhaled at the same time.

"I believe," Genevieve wheezed, moving to the door to shut it, "that I'm going to need your help choosing something and getting it on." She picked up the red, noticing that Eleanor was nodding in agreement. "Let's find a place for all of these and then decide what I should wear this evening for dinner.

_~~~…~~~ _

Guy sat at the table, staring at an empty trencher, his fork and eating knife in each hand.

_Where was she? _

"Thornton, I tire of waiting."

"She is a woman," the man intoned gently. He motioned to a servant, who brought a pitcher of wine. "Sometimes, they take… time." He stood before the table with his hands behind his back. "You brought her clothing?" When the drink arrived, he poured a goblet and set it in front of Guy. "No doubt, if she was anything like my wife, she would be trying everything on, to see what suits her best and has lost track of time." He smiled sadly. "Or perhaps she wants to wear what she thinks would suit you best."

Guy took a sip of the ale, before setting the goblet down angrily, causing the drink to splash and spill over the rim and onto the table as well as Guy's hand. "She should consider when eating would suit me best." With that he stood up and stormed up the stairs, leaving the steward and the servant wringing their hands nervously.

He was quite noisy coming down the hall, his spurs still on. Surely, she would hear him coming. Standing outside of her door, he listened, hearing furious, fast-paced whispering. Knocking once, he opened the door and let himself in.

"SIR GUY!"

"GEEEEZ! CAN'T A GIRL HAVE SOME PRIVACY?"

They were standing in the middle of the room, clothes strung everywhere and hanging from pretty much everything. They were struggling to get Genevieve into the red gown that Marian had worn when the Bavarian boobie was in Nottingham. The girl – Guy couldn't remember her name – was behind Genevieve, fiddling with the lacings up the back of the bodice. Genevieve was bent over, hands on her breasts, looking as if she were trying to rearrange things. He leaned up against the bedpost, taking in the goings on and enjoying the shocked spectacle.

He… twitched.

"Is there a problem?" He looked at Genevieve's hands in attempt to forget how long it had been since he had been with a woman, but that seemed to make his problem worse. "Are you afraid you will lose them?" She gasped at that, her jaw flapping in such a way, that Guy had to work to keep from laughing out loud. He nodded to her feet. "It appears to be a bit long."

She stood up at that, eyes narrowed. The dress pooled at her feet and the girl stepped back. "I've loosened it as much as possible, Lady Genevieve. I'm sorry."

Genevieve looked down, her very generous curves squashed and mashed upwards. She smirked at Guy. "It's a bit tight across the chest."

"I see."

Genevieve turned to the servant. "If you'll see a bath started for me, I would be very appreciative. I'll dump the water, so you don't have to stay and it won't be stagnant when you arrive in the morning."

"There is a plug with a drain pipe, my lady," she whispered. "Just pull it. There is a drain to release the water behind the manse. We are not so very backwards." She leaned in closer, looking at the lord of the manor as if he were an evil demon. "I'll put away your clothes, so you'll not keep Sir Guy waiting."

Guy stood away from the bed and extended his elbow. "M'lady? Dinner is getting cold."

Genevieve tucked her hand in and looked up at him. "If you look down my blouse-"

"They are hard to miss." Guy was immediately halted when Genevieve dug in her heels. "Obviously," he put his other hand over hers and yanked her along, "we will need to make other arrangements to clothe you properly."

"These will suffice," she said stiffly.

"No, they will not."

She continued as if he had said nothing. "Please give my thanks to the woman who loaned them to me."

"She will not miss them," he ground out between clenched teeth. He cut off her retort. "Do not argue."

Genevieve slammed her mouth shut at the imperious tone of voice. She would never allow anyone to speak to her in this manner, not even The Gator!

"Whether she misses them or not, I would appreciate it if you would at least thank her-"

"Genevieve!" He looked down at her with such severity and dark anger and…

_There._ Had she not been looking closely, she would have missed it. Deep inside and for just a split second, there was such… pain… and anguish.

_Someone hurt him. _

The thought stopped her, brought her ever-moving mind to a complete standstill.

_Someone hurt him._

Somewhere, someone managed to get through this man's hard, solid exterior and damaged something fragile inside. Who? What? How long ago?

"M'lady?"

Genevieve snapped out of her morose inner musings to see they stood next to the chair apparently deemed as hers. Sir Guy had pulled it out and was gesturing for her to take her seat. "Oh." She dipped her head, blushing. "Thank you." She sat down, allowing him to push the chair under the table. While watching him get situated, she wondered if whoever hurt him was the reason he was so removed and remote.

And if he would ever allow anyone near to him again.

_~~~…~~~ _

Dinner, she had to admit, was excellent. Coming from a time of frozen meat, canned vegetables, and processed and microwavable food, she suddenly realized that she missed her grandmother's farm and straight-up cooking, the wonder of the meal during harvest and mostly, homemade bread with fresh-churned butter. The poultry, Thornton proudly informed her, was pheasant and was his wife's recipe.

Genevieve didn't look up from her plate. She was aware Guy wasn't looking up from his either. It was as if he'd not eaten all day. "Well, if this is how she cooks all the time, you should be as wide as you are tall, Thornton!"

"My wife is deceased," he said quietly.

"Oh." This put a damper on Genevieve's mood. "I am sorry."

The man smiled slightly before continuing. "Eleanor tells us you wish to bathe this evening, Lady Genevieve. We have lit a fire in the fireplace in the bath upstairs and are taking water to be heated. When you are ready, let me know and we will begin heating the water for your bath." With this he ducked his head and removed himself to stand in the shadows, waiting in case either needed anything.

The meal progressed silently, the only sound being that of breaking bones and the clink of tableware. From the side of her eye, Genevieve watched as the knight beside her drank heavily. The ale was yeasty, but not fermented enough to cause much of a buzz.

As her hunger was alleviated, she took in her surroundings, the wall hangings, and the furnishings of the hall.

"Something has caught your interest?" Guy was watching her closely, a slight grin on his face.

"Your bachelor pad." Confusion crossed his features. It dawned on her that what she was about to say would go completely over the knight's head and that amused her. "Your home. This... hall. This place looks like a medieval Georgia Tech frat house," she said with a grin. She toasted him. "Go Ramblin' Wreck! Cheers!"

With that, she returned to her inner musings and her plate. The boy did know how to put out a nice meal. Or at least, his servants did.

"Why is your hair short?"

The question came from nowhere, startled Genevieve from her own quiet thoughts; thoughts of her business, her employees, Lamar. For the first time, she wondered how badly injured she must be and if all this was simply a coma-induced dream or if she were really dead. Her thoughts scattered like water thrown against a rock. "What?"

Guy had pushed back from the table and was facing her with one long, leather clad leg slung over the arm of the chair he was seated in, his goblet dangling dangerously from his fingertips. "Why is your hair short? Who did you displease? Is that why you were running away?"

Self-consciously, her hand went to her shoulder-length cut. "I didn't displease anyone. Why would you think something that ridiculous?"

Guy lifted his cup, staring at her with interest. Drinking deeply, he finally set it down, a servant scurrying to refill it. "A woman's hair is her glory, her pride." Genevieve's jaw dropped in disgust at the chauvinistic attitude. "It is cut when she is being punished, when she has displeased her father or husband. Or lord." Finally, he dropped his eyes, picking up his newly filled goblet and looking at the contents in sorrow. "It is a humiliating experience for the woman if the shorning is public." The last was whispered, the sound captured and caressed by the pewter grasped in the knight's hand.

Guy was suddenly aware he was being stared at with such malevolence that it raised the very hackles on the back of his neck. "I have no husband or father to tell me what I can and cannot do!" Genevieve spat. "I own a multi-million dollar business, am respected in my community and field. I have clients from all over the…continent who seek out my advice. I own my own home and take care of myself without a man's help! I do as I please!" She inhaled deeply, in anger, causing the seams of her corset to strain even further. " _I_ cut my hair so that is easier to keep neat and takes me less time to groom. It is a convenience for me!" She looked up and into the shadows. Finding Thornton, she jutted her chin at him. "Kind sir," she said now loudly, "I would be ever so grateful and thankful if you would begin heating the water for my bath. I will be in my room." She stood up, leaning over the table. "Dinner was lovely. It is regrettable that the company wasn't, but I won't hold you responsible!"

Unconsciously, she grabbed her empty goblet, and attempted a graceful exit. Unfortunately, she tripped twice before growling and pulling the front of her dress up, exposing ankles and shins and the oddest footwear Guy had ever seen.

Guy watched as she stormed up the stairs and waited until her stomping faded down the upper hallway, smirking with much amusement. "Respected, a landowner, and wealthy." He toasted the servant who was clearing Genevieve's plate. "But yet she is here, with little to recommend her, and no one seems to be clamoring to claim her. Not her company, her peasants or her… clients, whatever that is. " He drank yet again deeply and set the goblet down. "What do you think?"

"I… uhm… think she needs a husband," the servant stuttered. He turned with the table items and scurried to the kitchen.

"A husband. Aye." Eying the pitcher of ale, he snarled and rose from the table. "Poor sot." With that, he wandered from the hall, in search of the barn to calm himself and perhaps a game of cards with some of his men before retiring with a bottle of wine.

Upon his return from the barn, it began to rain, a cold, long, soaking drizzle that would last for two days.

_~~~…~~~ _

Genevieve leaned back into the old-fashioned (to her) tub and sighed in contentment. The only thing that was missing were bubbles and soft music, but this, the mist rising over her head, was glorious. She washed her hair first, before the tub filled up with dirt and sweat accrued from the day. Once that was taken care of, she uncorked one of the bottles of oil and after smelling it, spilled several generous drops into the water, the scent of lavender rising in the steamy air. She looked at the rash on her inner arm, scratching at it. At least, when she got back, she could have this damn implant removed! No need to suffer if she wasn't having sex! The conversation from earlier replayed itself and infuriating her again, causing her to growl irritably.

"M'lady?" Eleanor's voice interrupted Genevieve's angry musings. She set a small flagon down on the shelf next to the tub. "I brought you some wine. I thought it might ease your nerves."

Genevieve cocked an eyebrow, before leaning over to fill the empty goblet she accidentally brought up with her. "Thank you." She took a sip of the wine, yet again, finding it very good. "He doesn't stint on the alcohol, does he?"

"My lady?" Clearly the girl was confused.

"The wine." Genevieve raised her goblet. "He stocks good wine."

"I don't know, my lady. I've not had any." Genevieve could hear the girl behind her, picking her clothes off the chair. "Oh dear. The seams are pulled." The girl tsked to herself.

"Great," Genevieve growled at herself. "Whoever loaned them to me will hate me." She heard Eleanor gasp slightly. Curiosity and Sir Guy's reticence got the best of her "Eleanor?"

"Yes, my lady?"

"I'm going to ask you a question and I want you to answer me."

"Yes?"

She took another sip of the wine. "Do you know whose clothing has been loaned to me? I've asked Sir Guy so I could thank her and he's refused to tell me who she is." Even though the girl was standing behind her so she couldn't see her, Genevieve could feel her reluctance. "Eleanor?"

"I am not certain, but I believe they belonged to Lady Marian."

That name was familiar from Genevieve's memory of old folk tales. But to the best of her knowledge, Lady Marian loved Robin Hood… who Guy claimed was the bane of his existence. She decided to play stupid. "Who is Lady Marian? His sister? A relative?"

"Oh no," Eleanor breathed. "At one time, she was Sir Guy's betrothed."

"At one time?" Genevieve's interest was raised. She thought again. No. According to the legends and the folk tales - that silly Disney cartoon she watched as a child - Lady Marian loved Robin Hood. She made a moue with her mouth. _Same with that movie with Alan Rickman and Kevin Costner, although Rickman's Sheriff had Costner's Hood beat hands down in the hot department! In both, however, Marian lived and married Robin. _

She idly wondered if Guy and Rickman's barber were one and the same...

_Well that's a stupid thought, chickee-poo! _

"Ma'am?" Eleanor suddenly appeared at the side of the tub, causing Genevieve to start and cover herself. She was kneeling, her hands on the side of the tub, pleading. "Please do not tell anyone I told you." She waited for Genevieve's nod. "There are those who say Sir Guy is a devil. A demon. He is a wicked man."

Genevieve was feeling a nice buzz. "Spawn of Satan." In her early stages of inebriation, Genevieve felt the girl was exaggerating. "It's all that black clothing."

"Aye. But he loved Lady Marian. My cousin is a maid at Nottingham and she said Sir Guy danced attendance on Lady Marian; bent over backwards to gain her favor. Bought her gifts; jewelry, clothing, a horse…"

I'll bet I know who that beauty in the pasture really belongs to now…

"Once," the girl's voice rose a bit, "Nottingham was under siege because the Sheriff disappeared. Prince John's men were to raze it to the ground and kill everyone inside. Because Sir Guy is a Black Knight, he was to be allowed to depart the castle, but he wouldn't. He wouldn't leave Lady Marian and she refused to leave the people of Nottingham." She lowered her head. "'Tis said Sir Guy told Prince John's man that his world would be ash and he would rather die at Lady Marian's side than leave her."

Genevieve quickly sobered up. "What happened?"

"The Sheriff returned just in time. He was in a right fury, my cousin said."

Genevieve leaned back against the tub. For some strange reason, her heart sank, knowing her host was engaged and in love with another woman. This Lady Marian must be furious a woman was living with her fiancé.

"I should like to thank her for the loan of the clothes. I suppose I should find another place to live. I, for one, would be very angry if my fiancé was living with another woman, regardless of the circumstances."

"My lady, she is dead. She died some months ago." This brought Genevieve up with a start.

_She will not miss them… _

No wonder he looked so grief-stricken. The woman was probably the only thing on this earth that made him human…

Eleanor swallowed and whispered in a voice so low, Genevieve could barely hear her, even though she was less than a foot from her ear. "He went insane after she was murdered. Raged like a lunatic. " The girl licked her lips. "He went to Prince John for some months. We all thought he was dead, but he returned a few weeks back. Now he's more ruthless, darker. Scarier." She took a breath.

"Lady Marian was murdered?" Genevieve's heart sank. "I imagine he is grief-stricken."

Before Eleanor could answer, the echo of spurs could be heard coming up the stairs. They approached the bath room door and stopped briefly, before continuing on.

"I've said too much. Please keep this between us." Eleanor jumped up and left the room with her clothing, which left Genevieve in a quandary.

She had no change of clothes with her after her bath.

_~~~…~~~ _

So, she waited until the upstairs was quiet. When all was silent, she opened the door just a hair. She could hear a few of the guards down in the guardroom off the main hall. They were loud, boisterous, obviously playing a game of sorts. Sticking her head out of the doorway, she looked both ways and seeing no one, tip-toed out of the bath room.

She was clad in only a long towel. Quietly, she crept down the hallway, her hand clutching the back together and her other hand, holding the top up and grimacing when she heard the floor squeak. She passed Sir Guy's room, the door open and as she slid past, she saw him, his back to her as he perused something on the table. For a moment, she stopped, appreciated that his rear view was as pleasing as his front before scurrying on. As she slid into her room, closing the door behind her, she was oblivious that Gisborne was aware of her presence, her momentary pause by his door and thanks to the mirror on the wall next to the table, he was observant of her lack of clothing. He smiled down at the things on his desk, knowing she would be back and more than likely bring a storm to rival the one outdoors with her.

The moment she reached her room, she jumped on the rug. The floor was cold and the floorboards were rough. She took a few minutes to rub down, warm up, even though there was a fire in the fireplace. She shook her head, attempting to erase the image of the knight from her mind. Without his heavily padded and mailed jacket and clad in a black poet's shirt, (that personally, she wanted for herself!) the true width of his shoulders and the broadness of his back, left little to the imagination. Remembering there was no dresser, she eventually went into the small chamber where the clothing racks and wardrobe were.

Eleanor was much neater than Genevieve and she wondered if she'd be allowed to take the girl back to the future with her. The minute that thought crossed her mind, it made her giggle. No doubt, she was in a coma and this was a dream or worse, she _was_ dead and this was hell. And her dream about her conversation with Val was just that… a dream!

Well if this was hell, it was tolerable.

She looked over at the chamber pot in corner.

Some things are NOT tolerable. The poor excuse for the toilets was one - and by the way, where was she supposed to dump it? And Sir Guy of….

Genevieve stopped at that. Her host was excruciatingly tall, gorgeous, built like sex walking and stalked about like a graceful black panther she remembered seeing as a young child at the zoo. His hair was longish, the same length as hers with dark curls she wanted to wrap around her finger. He was multi-faceted, a pain in the ass, crude, rude, a male chauvinist pig and…

Genevieve smacked herself. His lady had been murdered and this was the twelfth century where attitudes and expectations and customs and culture were different. He didn't have to take her in at all, much less treat her like an honored guest!

_I should just keep my head down and work on that contract. _

Her purple underwear was clean and folded on the shelf in the wardrobe, along with her gym shorts and workout tee. Throwing them on, along with her aerobic shoes , she decided the light was too dim for more contract work, so best just dig out her iPad and read a book.

Except going through the shelves, everything showed the iPad wasn't anywhere in the room.

In fact, her gym bag was gone. The only thing she had was her clothes…

She remember that man was looking at something on his table…

That bastard!

She threw open her door and stormed across the hall.

Completely missing the fact that a box of Kleenex had materialized next to her chamber pot.

_~~~…~~~ _

"Where is it, dammit?"

Both of Guy's eyebrows went up in tandem with his smirk. "My lady, your language is most colorful."

"Yeah, yeah about my language! Sorry to offend your tender ears!" His back was still facing the woman and he watched her find the gym bag through the reflection in his mirror. But…

"Interesting statement in clothing, Lady Genevieve." He turned to peruse her form. "Might I suggest you not venture downstairs dressed like that." He tilted his head. "My men are not gentlemen and quite frankly," he pursed his lips and licked them, "I am not so sure I wish to be one, either."

She turned to face the bag on the bed. Throwing the zipper open, she began to toss the things spread out over the bed into it – her iPhone, the iPad, the pens, pencils, her sketchpad, her make up...

"I did not intend to leave my room this evening," she spat tersely between clenched teeth. "In fact, I wouldn't have had I not had to come and hunt my belongings!" She tossed the last of the items into the bag. "I appear to be missing a few things…"

"I have them."

She thrust her hand out. "Hand them over."

"I do not think so." She turned to him, stunned. "I might consider returning them… for a price?" He held up the folder with the contract, along with the notebook. With a well-practiced swagger, he dropped them on the bed next to her bag. He flipped open the folder, exposing the contract and then opened the spiral notebook, to her notes. "What are these things and what are you doing?" With a well-practiced stealth, he sidled up next to her, placed his arm around her shoulders and lightly rested his hand on her far shoulder. So riveted on the notebook in front of her, she seemed unaware that he held her against him.

Genevieve decided it wouldn't hurt to tell him the truth. "As I stated, I own a multi-million dollar company. I'm an architect and my firm; my company designs and builds buildings of various shapes and sizes. This," she tapped the contract, "is the contract or the Bill of Sale. They are going to give me a lot of money and I'm going to give them my company in exchange."

"So, why do this?" Guy gestured towards the notebook, with Genevieve's handwriting. "This," he pointed to what she had written, "appears to be what is on this," he then pointed to the contract with his finger. While doing this, he pulled her closer to him, into the heat of his body.

_This close, he could smell her, smell the scent of lavender, Her scent, on Genevieve's body... _

"It's stupid to sign something you've not read. Once it's signed, you can't take it back or undo it. It's legally binding." Her nose twitched.

Guy agreed with this reasoning. The previous year, Vaisey put Guy and Marian through hell to get Winchester's signature on the Black Brotherhood document, going so far as to allow Winchester – and Guy - to believe part of the deal was Marian. While it would have been nice if Vaisey had told him his plans to retrieve Marian and kill Winchester, he didn't and truth was, even if he had, Guy didn't trust him then and wouldn't have believed him.

And he didn't trust him now.

"The man who approached me – Al Ficklebutte – doesn't strike me as being an 'up and up' man." She took in Guy's confused stare. "He doesn't seem trust- worthy." That, the man seemed to understand. "I mean, why would they put the contract in writing so small, one can barely read it? They are pushing the sale through very, very quickly, not giving me a chance to even renegotiate the small details." She turned back to the paper on the bed. "I have to think, 'What are they hiding'?"

"If they are going to pay you a lot of money, why should you worry?"

"Because, I have employees." With this, she scooted the contract over in front of her. "I have 48 people who work for me. They count on me to make sure they have work, healthcare, that they can provide for their families."

"But if you sell the firm," Guy began slowly, almost thoughtfully, "why should you be concerned? They are no longer your responsibility."

"That's the problem, Guy." Genevieve laid the contract down and wandered towards the window. It was shut, the air stuffy and despite the pouring rain and almost darkness, she opened it, standing in front and basking in the breeze. "My employees are loyal to me because I have been loyal to them."

Guy dipped his head in agreement. People did respond to loyalty. Sometimes earned, sometimes not.

Not, when it came to Vaisey. Vaisey expected it, which was why Guy was now secretly loyal to John, even though the prince was no improvement. If anything, he was an even more unstable overlord.

"I have verbal promises that they will continue to be employed. But for some reason, I don't trust them." She shivered, either from her thoughts or the cool, wet air, Guy didn't know. When she turned around to face him, he could not only see the goose bumps on her arms, but her nipples, which were delightfully perky and large, clearly seen through her thin shirt. "My people trust me to watch out for them, watch over them, to make sue they will still have work, a livelihood. That must continue after I sell the company. I want to see that promise in writing." Suddenly aware of the 'show' she was giving the man, she crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't trust them," she reiterated. "Have you ever dealt with someone you didn't trust?"

"Every. Day."

With a graceful motion, the man pulled her even closer, taking her in his arms. Genevieve inhaled sharply, looking up into the storm that grasped her firmly. She discovered his eyes weren't grey at all, but blue, like the summer sky, ringed with black eyelashes she would have paid good money to have herself. As he lowered his mouth, she prepared herself for an amorous assault that deep inside on a physical and hormonal level, she actually craved. But rather than claim her mouth, he instead grazed her cheek, in front of her ear. It was like being teased, caressed by a butterfly, a gentleness wholly unexpected from this giant of a man. The hand that rested on her shoulder moved to her waist and clasped her to him, while his other hand cupped the other side of her face, long fingers splayed from her chin to the outer shell of her ear. As his lips moved forward towards her eye, her knees trembled, refused to support her body and it occurred to her the only reason she managed to stand was because the knight held her in a tight embrace.

"Your hair is dripping, my lady," he whispered. "And if you do not return to your room immediately, I will be tempted to continue this." Slowly, he turned her loose, taking satisfaction in watching her knees buckle. The moment Genevieve regained her balance, she bolted around him and shot to the door.

"Your bag?" Guy turned his back to her, speaking over his shoulder. His clothing was making life as difficult for him as Genevieve's was for her. "Unless you wish for an excuse for me to join you." The bag was whisked off the bed and the door thrown back, causing the knight to chuckle mirthlessly. As he heard Genevieve's door slam shut, his finger traced his lip where traces of the water drops he lifted from her face lingered. He wished he had said nothing, simply dried all of her with his tongue…

He shook his head, furiously. No. The last thing he wanted, needed was to get involved with her. Best he found out where she belonged and if she continued to plague him in this manner, perhaps it would be paramount if he sent her to Ripley Convent.

No. That was an even worse idea. The nuns took a vow of silence, something he didn't think Genevieve was capable of. Marian certainly hadn't been. That was why he questioned Allan on if she had actually gone or not…

But Hood kidnapped her and held her in a tree… how did Hood get Marian that high up in the tree without help… or without her cooperation?

She had lied to him before, about other things. Perhaps, she lied about that as well?

Why do I dwell on this? I have other things to tend to… to worry about…

Right now, Genevieve was safest here, in Locksley, in _his_ Hall. He could watch her best here, protect her best…

And why did that matter?

And what was that rash of raised skin his fingers grazed on the inside of her upper arm?

_~~~…~~~ _

Genevieve slammed the door and thinking quickly, grabbed a chair and propped it under the turning latch. Every nerve ending in her body was on fire and her biggest fear was if that man followed her across the hall, would she let him in or not? She probably would. Shaking, she backed away from the door, listening, straining to hear if he followed her.

The fire in the fireplace was low and she threw another log on as the night held the promise of a chill.

In a fit, she threw the gym bag on the table and extracted everything in it. She continued to remove item after item even after she laid her iPad aside.

"Damn!"

The one item she wanted, needed, wasn't there. So rather than take the lit lamp to the small table next to her bed so she could read, instead, she blew it out, climbed under the covers and thrusting her hands between her legs, took care of business like she had had to for some months.

It didn't dawn on her than unlike home, she was not alone.

And that she could be heard outside of her room. And into the hall.

Where one dark knight stood outside her door and listened with amusement.

And equal need.

When she finished, she was in tears, sobbing her continued frustration. She was not fantasizing about Lamar, but instead of a tall, dark knight, with the sweetest mouth.

And he knew it.

_~~~…~~~ _

The card game did not last long that night, much to Guy's dissatisfaction. After a few hands, the others wandered off to posts and beds, leaving Guy with Joffrey. Of all of his personal guards, Guy trusted Joffrey the most. He had been with Guy for some time, working his way up, staying out of trouble. The previous evening, he spent the night with a young widow he had been seeing for a time. He knew where his man was all night. Gisborne was finishing off his first bottle of wine.

"Lady Genevieve was grateful for the use of your room last eve."

"Aye." Joffrey eyeballed the bottle, not ever recalling Sir Guy to share. "She thanked me."

"Did she?" For some reason, this pleased him. As unconventional as his guest was, she was gracious - unlike his sister, who wore out her welcome within a day. "Good." He drained his chalice and uncorked a second bottle. Feeling gracious, he motioned to his man, taking his goblet and filling it. "I need you to do me a favor. A quiet favor."

Joffrey picked up the cup, squashing the desire to down the liquid in one gulp, instead forcing himself to savor it, like he had seen the lords and ladies at the castle do. Unbeknownst to him, this act amused Gisborne. He saw himself in the young guard. "Wot you need?"

"You report to me and speak nothing of this." He folded his hands and leaned back into his chair. "I know your widow's secret."

Startled, Joffrey looked up, horror on his face. His 'widow' was in truth the daughter of the healer who had been dunked by the Sheriff for witchcraft. She practiced her mother's ways and not only was Joffrey in love with her; he adored the woman's baby as well. He planned to marry her if he could ever procure a place of his own, dreamed of obtaining knighthood. "Sir Guy, I am _your_ man, head of your guard…"

"We have a spy." Gisborne sat back, a leg thrown over the armrest of the chair. "A spy among us who talks to the sheriff. I want to find out who he is." He swirled the wine in his goblet, watching the light from the candles flicker in its depths.

"Should I kill him?" Ah, this one was hungry, just as hungry as Gisborne was at his age. For not the first time, Guy wondered how different things would have turned out if he had not attached himself to Vaisey, but to a more rooted, more respectable lord.

Probably not gone far. More than likely, still a guard and still sleeping in a bunkhouse. Considering the number of lords willing to overthrow Richard in favor of John, finding a more respectable lord would not have happened.

"No. Find out who he is and become his friend." Finally, he lifted the pewter to his lips. "If we know who is talking to the sheriff, we can… manipulate, as well as control that information. Besides," with this, Guy began to slowly swing his elevated foot, "if we get rid of him, the Sheriff will only find another informant. We cannot kill them all." With this, Gisborne stood up, grabbing the wine bottle and willing the room to not move. "Do a good job, Joffrey, and I'll ensure that the extra money you need to procure your knighthood becomes available." In that promise, he ensured Joffrey would do as he bid.

With that, he left the room, grabbing a third bottle, even though he had just opened the second, and stumbled up the stairs, drinking directly from it. He stopped for a moment in front of Genevieve's room and hearing nothing, he lurched across the hall to his own and shut the door, prepared to drink himself into oblivion.

Joffrey waited until he heard Sir Guy's door close before getting up and reaching for the knight's left behind goblet. There was still wine left in the chalice and certain he wouldn't return for it, Joffrey poured it into his own before taking it into his room and retiring for the night.

~~~…~~~

'E' is for the Ecstasy

~~~…~~~

_A/N - As this fic moves along, it should be clear that I am including the events that happened later in the series and considering it common knowledge between the canon characters - specifically Guy's, Isabella's and Robin's shared past when they were children. _


	6. 5 - Love does not boast

_**Manna from Heaven**_

_**Chapter 05**_

_**Love Does Not Boast**_

By the time Genevieve made it down to breakfast, Guy had already broken his fast and was gone. In this, she was glad as she wasn't sure if she could face the man this morning.

"Good morning, Lady Genevieve." Thornton was hovering. Hovering well, but hovering, none-the-less. "How did you sleep last night?"

Genevieve realized he was trying to ask her if she needed something in her morning mead for a possible hangover. "Better than I did the night before. Thank you."

The man smiled at that. "I have something for you." He nodded and a young servant brought out a platter of eggs and sausage.

A huge grin split Genevieve's face and picking up the fork left at her place, she dug in. "You are a wonderful man, Thornton, and I thank you! If that man doesn't tell you enough, I will!"

Thornton smiled and continued to nod. "If you are pleased, then that is thanks enough." After watching her for a few moments, his smile faltered a bit. "Were the clothes Sir Guy brought you, not to your liking?"

Genevieve kept chewing to keep from swallowing too large a piece of sausage. She was dressed back in her jeans and her tunic. "The clothes were beautiful, Thornton." She felt her face heat up in a blush. "They did not fit. I'm too fat."

"I would not say that."

Genevieve waved her fork with a tidbit of sausage speared on the prongs. "You are a wise man NOT to say that. But I can." She shoved the piece in her mouth.

"I think perhaps you are being self-deprecating."

"Ah fink yew aar bein' kindk." Genevieve was focusing on the trencher before her, her mouth full as she talked. She saw Thornton opening his mouth to respond and swallowing hard, she cut him off. "Let's just say, I'm more... curvy."

The man rocked back on his heels, his hands tucked behind his back. "Curvy. That will suffice." The two of them smiled, sharing a quiet, private joke.

She scooped up some of the eggs, finding the young servant standing in the gloom. With a wave of her fork, she called him over. "Do you have a name?"

"Godric, my lady."

For a moment, Genevieve considered telling the servants to dispense with the 'my lady' stuff while Sir Guy was gone, but on second thought, it might fuel rumors that she wasn't and then what would happen? "Well, Godric. Here is a word of advice for you. Never," and with this, she thrust her empty fork at the boy and nailed him with a steely gaze, "tell a girl or a woman she is fat. Got it?"

"Got wot?"

Thornton's eyes closed in despair, as Genevieve stared at the boy completely flabbergasted. She shook her head and tried again. "Do not tell a girl or a woman she is fat. Do you understand?"

He brightened at that. "Yes, my lady. I understand completely."

"Good."

The rest of the meal continued silently, Genevieve growing more than slightly ill at ease over the fact that Thornton, Godric, and Joffrey stood and danced attendance on her, anticipating every whim. It was a strange and uncomfortable feeling. When she finished, she arose from the table, Joffrey grabbing the heavy chair in time before she tipped it over.

"Was the bath to your liking, last eve?"

The question caught her off guard. "Yes. Yes it was." She stopped for a moment, before continuing. "Thornton, is it a... hassle..." she stopped at his look of confusion, "... is it inconvenient to carry all of that water up to the bath room?"

"No, my lady." The steward looked almost offended. "Whatever you or Sir Guy desire is not inconvenient at all."

"You are sure?"

The man looked positively uncomfortable. "Yes, my lady."

"Okay." She turned to go upstairs and retrieve her contract and notebook.

"Would you like a bath this evening after dinner again?"

"Yes, I would." It was out of her mouth before she realized it.

"Very good."

~~~...~~~

The sky was overcast, the air heavy with unshed rain, despite the deluge of the evening before. The ground was heavily puddled and Genevieve quickly came to the conclusion that working in the pasture was completely out of the question. For some minutes, she stood at the main door, watching the rolling clouds, deep in her thoughts. She finally decided to find the brightest spot in the house, roamed it freely, sticking her nose everywhere.

Much to her displeasure, she discovered that the best light was in the master bedroom - Guy's room. She stood in the doorway, contemplating moving the table to the window, before she smacked herself.

This was *his* room! She would have a complete conniption if someone used her office as callously as she was planning on using his room. Yes, by sitting in front of the window, she would see him coming, but still. It was a privacy... a personal space issue. Turning from the doorway, something in the floor caught her eye.

Two empty wine bottles, both lying on their sides. Tip-toeing in, she leaned over and picked them up.

"I'll take those, my lady." Joffrey stood behind her, his hand out. Without a word, Genevieve handed them over. Joffrey nodded his thanks and turned.

"Does he do this often? Drink himself into a stupor?"

The guard's look fell in shame. "Every night," he whispered. "He has... demons who won't let him rest." He exhaled loudly. "It's the only way he sleeps."

"He'll kill himself, drinking like this."

Joffrey shrugged. "I think it would be a release to him. To die." With that, the man backed from the room, his boot falls echoing down the hallway, leaving Genevieve with conflicting, unanswered thoughts. She stared at the bed, the quilt slept on top of. Even with the window open, the cool, fall air drifting in, the room held a heavy aroma of leather and man. The Man. Mixed in the air was scent of wine, horse, sweat. Genevieve shook her head before following the guard back into the hall, but going to her room.

The light was not so great, here in the back of the house. It was shaded by a tree and while recognizing she would have a headache before it was over, Genevieve dragged the table in front of the opening and retrieved the folder and notebook from her bag.

Part of her - that anal, everything has its place, its shelf, its drop file - wanted to leave things out, find a place for everything, but she worried that if she had to leave in a hurry, if this place became stifling or worse, a sort of prison, she would be in a quandary. It would take longer if she had to throw things in her bag, retrieve them from various places. So here in the bag, everything stayed.

Well, not _everything_. Some of her things were missing, taken by That Man, and probably hidden in his room. She had a mind to march back in there and go through his things until she found them.

But she was afraid of what she might find.

_Instruments of torture, shackles, body parts...shrunken heads..._

She shook her head. How stupid. The man was a Neanderthal, no doubt about that, but he was still human.

With another shake, she sat down at the table with her things and opened up the folder with the contract. Reading through her notes again, she recalled that in several places, the contract referred to an 'Addendum A'. Flipping back and forth, going through the document, she realized that she didn't have 'Addendum A'...

_Strange. Val normally didn't forget things like that. Perhaps Addendum A came later; or... wait..._

There was a sticky note attached to the rear of the folder. She peered closely at it.

_Addendum to contract sent to lawyer by Ficklebutt. Call Stallop for the original._

The handwriting was not in Val's neat hand. This meant the addendum was sent after the fact and not to her. Seeing how it was stickied to the back of the folder, chances were likely Val hadn't seen it either.

_Oh shit._

This revelation caused Genevieve to stand up and pace the floor. She needed that addendum. The contract in itself was straight-forward, but it mentioned an addendum with additional concessions and conditions...

...or stipulations.

Stipulations could make or break a deal. Somehow in this case, she had a feeling it was a break situation. Why would they not send it to her; instead go straight to her attorney. And why didn't George say something?

Unless George was so preoccupied with his wife's health.

_If they mess with my employees..._

Genevieve had an extreme soft-spot for her employees. Renee, her secretary, was a single parent, with a special needs daughter and an ex who was a dead-beat dad. She wanted to return to college, get a degree in marketing, make a better life for herself and her daughter. Brad, one of her most promising architects, was putting a younger sister through college because their parents couldn't afford it. Tracy, another young architect was fresh out of college and raising her two younger sisters.

Bradley was simply fighting to stay sober. Several tours of duty in the Mid-East left him with PTSD and there were times... she and Val worked overtime to keep him busy. Both watched the front door every morning, holding their breath until he came in. Both were convinced he had more than a drinking problem, but he showed up to work, on time, every day, disheveled more days than not, but in command of his facilities. Genevieve made sure the insurance the company carried and offered her employees would take care of a lot of needs, whether it be medical or psychological. She might be selling the company, but by God, her employees were going to keep their benefits!

She needed that addendum... but...

Genevieve snapped her fingers - the iPad! George's secretary had emailed the contract to her and she downloaded it on her iPad. Perhaps...

Running back to the bed where her bag was sitting, she rifled through it, finding the electronic. Turning it on, she scrolled through her downloads and found it. Flipping through the pages, she found the -

_YES!_

- addendum. The font was excruciatingly small and when she enlarged it, she came on the same problem. The attachment was a photocopy and making it larger blurred the words.

_Shit!_

There was no choice, no hope for it. Genevieve simply prayed that the battery would last long enough for her to a) write it down, word for word and b) transcribe it into something understandable. She sat back down at the table, realizing this was going to take longer, scrolling back and forth and being unable to use the magnifying ruler on it. She knew magnets ruined a computer monitor; she had no clue about the iPad and as the magnifying ruler had a magnet across the bottom, she wasn't going to take a chance.

_Oh please let the battery last. Please._

Squinting in the dim light, she began to transcribe the tiny legal document.

_Addendum A: Whereas upon the completion of the sale, the buyer will take control the stock released..._

Genevieve sat back at that. Ficklebutt will take control of the stock? Stock? The released stock? How did they find out about the stock? Were they talking about her personal stock or the stock she used to pad her employees retirement packages? That was a private release, on a small scale, specifically for her employees retirement packages. It wasn't supposed to be bought up by anyone. If Ficklebutt controls the stock, that's another way of saying, they were taking the stock from the packages, thereby devaluing the packages themselves.

_Oh hell to the no!_

For not the first time, Genevieve wanted to smack herself in the head. Early in their relationship, she asked Lamar why contracts and documents were in legalese. He laughed at her and informed her that was how lawyers stay in business.

_Funny. When I had legal questions, even benign ones, he brushed me off. When George didn't return my calls, didn't get back to me, Lamar brushed them off._

_He brushed me off a lot._

_He laughed at me a lot. Not with me._

_At me._

For the first time in ages, Genevieve's adoration of her now-former, or in the future former boyfriend, began to wane and wax into a fury. Forcing herself to focus on the task at hand, she returned to her iPad and continued to transcribe.

_Whereas upon the completion of the sale, the buyer will take control of the stock released and held by the seller..._

Genevieve jumped up, knocking her chair over. "What? My stock? MY STOCK?" She was screaming and her voice carried through the house. Thornton came from the kitchen, Joffrey joined him in the hall and Eleanor stepped into the doorway where she had been cleaning Guy's room. "OH FUCKING HELL to the NO!"

"Miss?" Eleanor now stood in Genevieve's doorway, quite pale and obviously shaken at Genevieve's outburst. Both females could hear boot falls coming up the stairs. "Is anything amiss?"

Genevieve nodded towards the hallway behind the servant girl. "Please tell me that's not Sir Guy," she whispered. Joffrey's plain, but earnest face poked in over Eleanor's startled one.

"Wot's wrong?"

Genevieve suddenly felt very self-conscious. They needed to know as little as possible. "The paper I was working on," she nodded to Joffrey. "I've discovered some... disquieting information." Both heads tilted. Again, Genevieve berated herself internally. Dealing with a populace that was uneducated was going to be tiring. Guy was bad enough and he was somewhat educated for this time period she supposed. She picked up the folder and notebook both knew she had and dropped them on the table, covering the iPad. "Whoever wrote this was an idiot."

"Oh." Both nodded sagely.

"Yer a'right?" Joffrey wanted to make sure before he went back downstairs.

"I'm fine. For now." She tried to look ashamed and was probably doing a bad job of it. "I apologize for my language and for scaring the two of you. This," she spread her hands in supplication, "will probably happen a lot."

Joffrey appeared appeased, but Eleanor hung in the door for a moment.

"Ma'am?"

"Yes, Eleanor?"

"I... know you're not from here, but I'm sure Father Thomas will hear your confession... with your... language and all."

Genevieve bit back a retort. In the back of her mind, bits of information long forgotten from history classes from high school and college were trying to force their way forward. In the twelfth century in Western Europe, Catholicism was The Religion, The Faith. Martin Luther hadn't nailed his famous rants on the doors of the Catholic Church yet. Jews were not tolerated in many parts of the country. The Bible hadn't been translated. In fact, to even think about translating the Bible would be a cause of great concern to the clergy. To think freely or veer from anything The Church deemed important was considered blasphemy or heresy... to espouse in any way, shape, or form any other religion, faith was cause for execution.

_Best keep your mouth shut, girlfriend._

"Thank you. I'll think about that." Genevieve tried to be as gracious as possible.

Eleanor blushed, before dipping and walking out of the room.

Genevieve sighed heavily and went back to the iPad and her notebook.

A low grade headache began to form behind her eyes.

~~~...~~~

Guy had a headache as well. Despite an entire pitcher of Thornton's magic mead, his hangover... hung over. For the first time, the knight began to seriously consider other ways of sleeping soundly and dreamlessly through the night. Last night, his demons returned with a vengeance, despite the amount of alcohol he had drunk. The nightmares never changed; always him ending up being chased by a vengeful Hood, who demanded his head, his life, his title, his lands, his wealth.

His heart.

For reasons obvious, Guy wished he could simply cut out that bothersome organ, lock it away. At some point soon, he was going to have to consider marriage, regardless of what Vaisey said. He had a title, lands, wealth and he wanted a legitimate heir to pass it to. He remembered well what his mother and father had; even after his father had been sent to the leper colony and he wanted that. He thought, prayed he would have that with Marian...

He shook his head. No. When this mess with John's take-over of England was complete and he had risen in power, he would have his pick of high-born, well-bred women. It would be politically arranged and that was that. It happened all the time. Unlike Marian, the woman would know her duty and accept it. And if the woman didn't please him, well, once he had a few sons off her, he would do like so many others and find a mistress and he would fantasize about whoever he wanted. He would have the money. And if she did not like it, he would retire her to a convent. It happened all the time. Love was no longer an issue or a requirement. It would be nothing more than what marriage should be: a legal agreement presided over by the Church.

There. Done. That was a simple decision to make.

"GISBORNE!"

Vaisey's voice reached a level of shrillness unheard of and it jolted Guy out of his revere. The merchants were lined up, discovering there had been yet another tax hike and while they complained loudly, the tax chest was full. "Don't just stand there day-dreaming!" Vaisey was still screeching. "Take it to the strong room!"

Guy shoved himself off the side of Vaisey's chair and slamming the lid of the chest shut, picked it up and headed to the stairs, where two of his personal guards waited. As he walked towards them, he recognized one of the merchants; Isandra de Monfaire. She was a French clothier, one that Marian used before her and her father's house arrest. As he passed her, he stopped. "Do not leave. I wish to speak to you. " He dropped his voice to a whisper. Vaisey was yelling at someone else. " Privatnom."

Her snarl was hidden from the Sheriff, but she showed no shock that Guy was capable of speaking French. "Quoi que pour, laquais?"

"A personal matter."

The woman looked at him shrewdly, the sheriff still preoccupied. She rubbed her fingers together. _Money?_

Guy nodded. "At the portcullis in half an hour." He continued on, to the stairs, followed by his two guards.

Isabella was standing at the bottom of the stairs, blocking the way. "Lackey. Wonderful description of you."

"Step aside."

His sister was not to be deterred. "And why would you need to speak with a ladies' clothes maker?"

Guy looked at his guard to the right, a burly, brusque man. "Simon. Move her."

Isabella glared at the man, instead she began backing up the stairs. "That is not a nice way to treat your sister. Do you not think he treats me wretchedly?" She aimed that remark to his other guard. Guy continued to glare, both hands on the heavy casket of coins. "Oh, why so grumpy? Little Lady Genevieve as hard to court as Lady Marian?"

Guy refused to let her goad him. He continued to press forward and upward, Isabella maintaining her backwards creep, just out of reach. "Or did she not want to wear the clothing of a dead woman?" She reached the landing, but continued to stay close and provoke her brother. "Perhaps she would like some company? I could ride out. I'm sure she would like another woman to talk to, rather than the servants." Her face contorted into an ugly sneer. "Or you. Your conversation skills were never anything to brag of!"

Guy had reached the upstairs hallway now and his snarl would make the average person wilt. "You are to stay out of Locksley and stay away from Genevieve."

"Oh," she smiled wickedly. "On a first name basis, already. Have you bedded her yet?"

He turned to Simon. "My sister obviously needs a guard. Stay with her and make sure she stays put." Guy took satisfaction in the look of revulsion his sister gave him. "Take her to her room now."

"Yes, Sir Guy." Simon moved forward and none - to - gently grabbed Isabella and dragged her down the hallway.

"Does she know?" she yelled over her shoulder. "Does she know wha-" She was quickly muffled and Guy made a mental note to give Simon a bonus. He nodded roughly at the remaining guard.

"Do not drag your feet. Look alert." The guard, not much more than a boy, stood up taller and picked up the pace. Yet again, Guy had a reason to roll his eyes.

_Peasants._

~~~...~~~

The woman was on time. Truth was, she was waiting on him and looked rather put out. The air was heavy with unshed rain and merchants and dealers were packing their wares early, a heavy rainfall soon was guaranteed.

"This, it better be good." Isandra spoke better English than that, Guy knew she did, but she was now making a point.

"I said there was money in it for you. I would think that would please you." Both were leading their horses and her son was driving her cart of material.

"Many things are pleasing. Money is at the top of the list. If I am allowed to keep any." The last sentence was snarled.

"I do not make the rules, Madam de Monfaire. I only enforce them."

"Yes, yes, I know," she waved her hand dismissively. "It costs money to patrol the wood, to enforce the law. I give more money to your sheriff than I ever lost to Robin Hood." Her voice dropped again and Guy had to strain to hear. "At least, I know where my money is going when Robin Hood takes it!"

They made their way across the drawbridge and into the countryside, both ignoring the starving at the base. "Now what is it that you desire to pay me for? I do not believe it is my ample bosom."

Guy snorted. The woman was crass, earthy to the point of almost lewdness. He had seen her on occasion in the tavern in Nottingham. There was nothing feminine or lady-like about her.

"I have a guest-" he caught her sharp intake of breath. "-a lady who was accosted on the road."

"These roads, they are dangerous anymore." She didn't sound afraid and Guy wasn't surprised, considering what she had just said about Hood. He continued on as if she hadn't interrupted.

"She was robbed, everything was stolen. All she had was the clothes she was wearing. As she does not remember where she came from, I have not been able to contact her family."

"The poor child." Isandra decided she had exercised enough and stopped to pull up on her horse. It took five attempts before she finally managed to get into her saddle and watching the heave on the mare's face, Guy felt sorry for the beast. He looked back at her son, who was shaking his head in sorrow. _Ah,_ Guy thought. _She normally takes the wagon and the horse belongs to him. I would be worried as well._

"So, she is in need of clothing?"

"Yes. Two or three serviceable dresses, night clothes." Guy shuddered at the thought of telling Isandra what Genevieve was sleeping in.

"Small clothes?"

Guy's eyes bugged, thinking of the purple small-small clothes he found that he fought the urge to keep. "I would not know. You would have to ask her." The woman began to ramble about velvets and wool and he realized if he didn't say something and say something quickly, she would spend every crown he had. "She needs nothing extravagant. I do not plan on taking her any where."

"You are being beggarly with her?" The woman clucked her tongue. "It figures," she hissed under her breath.

"I can get someone else to make her clothes if this is going to be bothersome."

Isandra shrugged, not seeming to care. "It is up to you. If she is as you say, a 'lady', to dress her like a peasant would be a travesty."

Guy of Gisborne was not known for 'legendary control.' More rather, his lack of it.

"I do not wish for her to be dressed as a peasant," he ground out between his teeth. "I could have done that already! All I am asking is for a few decent outfits. If this more than you can handle-"

"I can handle it, mon cher."

Now, he was going to be sick. She was as big a tart as Vaisey!

"If you will bring her into town tomorrow-"

"No. Locksley is on the way to Knighton. You have materials, something that should please her."

Isandra watched him carefully. "What clothing she has is in that bad a state?"

Guy was shaking his head. "You will see."

"This will cost you extra."

"No doubt."

"You should pray it does not rain."

At that point, Guy just wanted her to shut up.

~~~...~~~

"Dieu du Ciel! Is this all this child has to wear?" Isandra turned on Guy, shocking him and making him back up a step. "Why did you not come to me sooner?"

Genevieve had been called down, much earlier than she expected. She barely managed to turn off her iPad and cram it and the notebooks into her gym bag and shove it under the bed, only to run down the stairs and headlong into a barrel of a woman. The woman's berating of Genevieve's rather stoic benefactor irritated her for some reason. "Really ma'am. I've only been here two days. And I do not believe I am so outrageous."

Isandra puffed at that. "Ladies do not wear trousers, especially skin-tight trousers!"

Genevieve pulled at the hip seam. "They're stretchy."

"They are..." Isandra threw her hands up, obviously at a loss for English words, "shameful!"

Genevieve had been in a bad mood all afternoon and this woman had trod on her last nerve. "Apparently they are not so shameful where I come from."

Isandra headed towards the door. "Where you come from is obviously backwards!"

Watching Genevieve bow up, Guy made the only decision he could come up with. He backed up into the shadows, noticing that Thornton and Joffrey joined him. There was nothing worse than two women going at each other. They could be worse than drunken men.

"Funny! I thought the same thing of this place!" She suddenly remembered Guy was still in the room. She looked over her shoulder, looking for him. "This household excluded."

Guy crossed his arms and leaned over to whisper to Thornton. "Tell me again why I am doing this?"

It took a moment for Thornton to respond. "Her manner of dress, my lord. It is unseemly."

"It don't bother me none," Joffrey piped in. "It grows on you."

"I do not recall asking you." The low-pitched rebuke caused the young guard to back up another step and drop his head.

"Jacques! Bring in my measuring kit, as well all the cloth in the back of the wagon. Leave the velvets and wool." Isandra's voice was piercing and it caused the men in the shadows to jump. She turned, hands on hips, searching for Guy in the shade. "Serviceable, correct?"

It dawned on Genevieve to tell the woman that Guy had already attempted to clothe her in a more... suitably Dark Ages manner, but she figured she'd better keep her mouth shut. While everyone was busy pointing and yelling - except for That Man, of course, his eyes glittering in the shadows - Genevieve rushed up the stairs and going straight to her room, grabbed the draft book out of her gym bag, along with the stubby pencil.

She managed to get the bag under her bed just in time. Genevieve had been to a few Renaissance Festivals and Celtic Faires in her lifetime. Not with Lamar, of course. Lamar thought they were a waste of time.

_Chalk up another reason to be glad that Lamar is to be future history! The boy was absolutely no fun! No fun, at all!_

While she realized that what she was wanting was more than likely ahead of this time... well, she was female...

And she wanted to be a trend-setter.

Not to mention, she didn't put it past that man to outfit her in the ugliest wardrobe ever.

_You don't believe that, girlfriend. He wouldn't have brought a French seamstress to create something 'decent' for you._

She was sitting by the window, sketching away when the material started to arrive. Within a few trips, her normally neat and orderly room was draped with various materials, haphazardly slung from one end of the room to the other. Isandra's son went downstairs to wait and Eleanor...

Genevieve watched covertly, still drawing, as Eleanor fingered cloth and texture. No doubt, she had never been clothed in anything but what looked like homespun castoffs and it broke her heart.

Isandra stood in front of Genevieve, fists on her hips.

"How many dresses am I allowed?"

"Two or three serviceable," the woman huffed. "Men! Do they not understand a lady's needs?"

"No, they don't," Genevieve agreed. "Which is why we are going to see how I can get more bang for his buck."

"Pardone?"

Genevieve shook her head and turned her sketchpad towards the woman. "Three plain, but fitted under dresses. Vary the neckline like so - scoop, square and curve," Isandra was nodding, "and vary that sleeve. Straight, with a point on the back of the hand, and then one with a bell sleeve." Again, she quickly illustrated, drawing in quick, bold strokes. "Three serviceable dresses, but..."

She continued to draw. " These can be worn alone as is, however if you also create a few over-dresses, made to compliment..." she was chewing on her lip, as was Isandra.

"A kirtle."

Genevieve was trying to remember what they were called. "They shouldn't quite meet in the front-"

"So the tunic shows through, looking like part of the dress!"

Eleanor was smiling. "And rather than three serviceable dresses, you really have five or six!"

"Or nine," Isandra was grinning.

Genevieve tore out the pages and handed them to the dressmaker. Quickly perusing the fabric, she found a white linen. "Now I'm sure I saw... yes!" On the other side of the room, was a white sheer bolt of cloth. "Make one out of this, but the sheer, make the bell sleeves. Actually, make the entire dress out of the sheer, but line the bodice and the skirt with the heavier. Make the over dress...the kirtle," again she roamed the room before finding a green light wool, "out of this and short sleeved. Oh!" She grabbed the sheet she had just handed Isandra and made a few quick strokes. "Put a hood on it!" Within a few minutes, she picked out material for the other two long tunics - a grey and a light, icy, patterned blue, and two more kirtles; a darker blue and a black.

Measuring her was a nightmare. Genevieve was used to buying clothes off a rack, fittings for society gowns were expected, but when she peeled down to her bra and panties, she truly thought the French dressmaker, was going to have an epileptic seizure.

"Mon Dieu!" She pointed to Genevieve's chest. "What is it?"

Genevieve was in no mood to be cajoling. Her headache was starting to spiral out of control and she doubted Tylenol would help at this point. Eating was probably going to make her sick. "It's a bra."

"It looks..." The woman was struggling for words. " C'est un instrument de torture!"

Genevieve had taken Spanish in High School, but she understood enough to figure out the woman had said. "You get used to it."

Isandra was still horrified, her hands gyrating in useless circles. "But... but... why?"

Genevieve grabbed the under part of the cups. "It keeps the tatas up and perky." Somehow, she didn't think Isandra was listening. The woman was busy hyper-ventalating. "They won't drop so soon." Finally, the woman's eyes met hers. "Support." She pressed upwards.

Dawning lit on the woman's face. "Ah. Mademoiselle needs a corset!" Finally, she pulled out a long, notched, slender rope and began to measure, carefully writing down the numbers in her own notebook.

It was the longest hour of Genevieve's life.

_~~~...~~~_

It was starting to sprinkle when Isandra and her son loaded the wagon and left. Genevieve took three Tylenol, but as she suspected, her headache was now a migraine and the only thing that would cure it was dark and sleep. She attempted to eat, but was unable to swallow much. Her plate barely touched, her wine goblet left where it sat, untouched, she thanked Guy for the clothing he went overboard to procure for her, declined the evening bath and stumbled up the stairs and went straight to bed.

Guy finished his plate and then hers before starting on her wine goblet. It was poured and served; no need to waste it.

"What caused her headache?" The question was a jolt in the quiet, causing Eleanor to jump.

"Sir Guy?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "How has Lady Genevieve occupied her time today?"

He noticed how the little servant girl and his guard looked at each other, worry evident on their faces. "She's been writing on parchment.""

"Something upset her," Joffrey blurted.

Guy noticed the look of ire the little servant girl-

_Really, I should at the very least learn her name._

-shot at his guard. "What upset her?"

It didn't dawn on Eleanor to attempt to lie to the knight. She had seen him in a cold fury and it wasn't something she wished to court. "She said the paper had been written by idiots." Her voice dropped. "She was cursing something fierce."

Guy glanced at Joffrey, raising an eyebrow in question. Like Eleanor, the guard was quick to answer, too frightened to even think about acting dumb. "I've not heard men swear like that, Sir Guy. She were screamin' like a haint." He nodded to himself, missing Guy's expression of disbelief.

Guy dispassionately watched as the servants cleared the table, listened while they cleaned the kitchen and quietly left for their own quarters, all the while not drinking the wine left behind. He stared into the gloom, one leg slung over the arm of his chair, the booted foot swinging aimlessly, while the knight forced his ever wandering mind to sit still and focus on the nothingness of the dust motes settling in for the night in the shadows. Despite his most heartfelt attempts, his mind wandered.

He watched Marian's ghost drift through the hall, watched as she stared in horror at her hand where he had so proudly placed her betrothal ring. He heard Hood's voice, ringing through the rafters-

_I didn't realize a man had to be invited into his own hall, Gisborne..._

He sat, his mood, his visage becoming darker and darker...

_I only wanted to take back what was mine. What you stole from me twenty years ago. Getting yours as well was an added boon..._

He sat, for he didn't know how long. Hours? Finally, his throat parched from thirst, he picked up his goblet and drank the room temperature wine that was in it and grabbing the small candle left on the table, quietly made his way up the stairs.

He passed his own rooms, and went to Genevieve's. Putting his ear to the door, he listened, hearing nothing. He knocked once, waiting for an answer, a murmur, anything.

Still nothing.

With the stealth of a trained assassin, he opened the door, thanking God the hinges were well oiled. The room was dark, save the low glow in the fireplace and from his own small light. There was a lump in the bed, Genevieve's head under her pillow. Quietly, Guy went to the table, calmly bringing the shutters to a close and locking them. He looked about the room, not seeing what he was searching for. It wasn't in the small ante-chamber, nor in her bare wardrobe. Peering under the bed, he saw the tip of her gym bag and smiling evilly, he used his boot to nudge it out from under the bed.

At that moment, Genevieve chose to mutter fitfully, and turn over, her pillow thrown from her face. Guy froze, waiting for her to sit up, anything. Instead, she whimpered, as if in great pain, her breathing finally deepening. There were lines on her face, her sleep not restful and deep in the pit of his stomach, it gave him momentary cause for concern. He waited for a few more moments, before sitting his candle on the table and pulling her gym bag from the floor.

Sitting it on the chair, he opened it, carefully perusing the contents before finding the notebook. He took it out, opened it and found the page where she copied whatever 'Addendum A' was and the neighboring page with her notes.

_Whereas upon the completion of the sale, the buyer will take control of the stock released and held by the seller. The seller will retain none of the stock in her personal portfolio and will sever all ties with the business known as Robinson Architects. Any costs to sever ties will be paid by the seller..._

Guy frowned as he read the rest of the page. He glanced over at Genevieve's notes, taking into consideration and not totally surprised at the angry, heavy handed slashes that constituted her handwriting and deeply scored the page...

_**OFHTTN! Not going to hand it over!**_

Ofhttn? What did that mean? And hand over what? The stock? This was obviously what Joffrey said upset her. What was...

Genevieve was stirring again, her sleep erratic. She was mumbling in her sleep, most of the words, insensible, but others...

_Lamar... bastard..._

Who was Lamar and why was she questioning his legitimacy? And again, what was stock?

Just at that moment, Genevieve shot up, gasping for breath. "NO! No! Please! Don't leave...don't do this..." her voice trailed off, replaced by a low keening.

Realizing she could and would see him and thinking quickly, Guy abandoned the table and slid onto the bed, taking her in his arms and cradling her head to his shoulder - the one away from the table, of course. "'Tis alright. You are safe." He squashed the urge to put his lips, his nose to her hair, concentrating on looking as if he were comforting her. "It was just a dream. Go back to sleep." He heard a muttered apology and again he quietly urged her to return to sleep. He held her close until her breathing deepened before laying her down and pulling the quilt up.

He returned to the table and perused the table for quill and ink, but could find none. He dug into the bag and found her writing utensil, a strange stick with sharpened charcoal at the end. Beneath her furious slashes, he wrote in unbelievably neat blocked letters beneath..

**WHAT IS STOCK?**

That would get a rise out of her, but perhaps she would talk about something besides clothes and jewelry in the morning. For once, Guy thought he would enjoy an intellectually stimulating conversation that did not involve pinching more money from people who did not have money. Or frippery. Or marriage. Or women. Or lepers.

Or ghosts.

He put the things back into the gym bag and laying it on the floor, pushed it gently back into place. As he raised up, Genevieve flung her left arm out, the hand and wrist dangling over the edge the of the bed. With a smirk, Gisborne tenderly took the pro-offered hand and started to set it back gently on her torso, but stopped short.

The arm, the wrist, the back of the hand was discolored. Leaning backwards, he grabbed his candle and brought it close, hissing at what he saw.

Her left arm wasn't just discolored. It was bruised, bruised badly. Livid marks of purple, black and yellow covered her entire arm, from the back of her hand to as far up her arm as he could see. His next thought came completely unbidden and uncensored.

_Who beat her? I will kill him!_

~~~...~~~

_if you ask a question_

_~~~...~~~_

_Quoi que pour, laquais - Whatever for, lackey?_

_A/N - To the stockbrokers reading me: While I have done a great deal of research for this fic - specifically the world of architecture (education and status quo) and 12th and 13th century Western European History, when I researched the wonderful world of the stock market, my brain shut down. Therefore, I'm flying this by the seat of my pants. I'm sure there are mistakes and I apologize. No, I don't want to learn and no, I don't really care if I missed it by a mile. Just... use your imagination and fill in the blanks. Thank you. _


	7. 6 - Love is not

_**Manna from Heaven**_

_**Chapter 6**_

_**Love is not...**_

Guy rocked back on his heels.

_Who did this to her? _

He blinked rapidly, thinking. Had anyone accosted her, attacked her, Joffrey most certainly would have told him. He was certain Genevieve definitely would have said something to him. Truthfully, in the very short time he knew the woman, he could not fathom her not putting up a fight. Truthfully, he imagined her attacker was in equally appalling shape! Gently, he set his candle on her night table, next to the bed, careful to tuck the bed curtain away from the small flame, and inspected her arm, pushing the sleeve up to her shoulder.

Bruised. Badly. It continued up past her sleeve and onto her shoulder.

Working slowly and patiently, so as not to disturb her sleep, he turned the quilt down and looked closely at her side, her leg. They showed none of the injury her arm showed. With much care, he covered her back up, almost missing her sigh of contentment as she rolled over her onto her right side.

He checked to make sure the window shutters were secured before leaving her room and making his way to his own. Stripping down to his skin, he slid beneath the sheets, staring at the canopy above him, before drifting off into a troubled sleep of his own.

~~~...~~~

_The night was bitter. It was something Guy never got used to; the incredible heat of the desert in the day, and the blood-freezing cold at night. _

_The town was deserted, not a soul stirred but himself._

_"GISBORNE!" _

_Guy shut his eyes. Hood. Again. How he wished, how he prayed the man had killed him..._

_The voice had come from the right, so Guy backtracked and took a street to the left, hoping to put distance between himself and the outlaw. In running, he paid no attention and in turning the corner, he barreled into Vaisey._

_"Someday," the man was cramming another fake tooth into his mouth, "he will catch you and kill you." He smiled up at the knight, a bright red light blinking madly from the inserted tooth. "I plan on selling tickets to watch! I love sport! And there is nothing more sporting than a killing!" And with that, he turned on his heel and walked off, his robes billowing behind him. "Hood! He's this way!"_

_Guy snarled in disgust and retreated to another alleyway._

_"GISBORNE!"_

_Again, Hood's voice, now closer and seeming to come from the sky. He looked up, worried now of seeing the man on the rooftop. _

_He backed into Allan-A-Dale._

_"Not tryin' t'be funny Giz, but I think 'e might be a bit perturbed, you killin' 'is woman an' all."_

_Guy went to grab him by the throat, but in the end, he only grasped empty air._

_Curses that normally were not heard from the man's lips, fell like the heavy rain outside his window._

_It was raining? Where?_

_Again, he clung to the walls, cold and hard against his back. He turned another corner and ran into Marian._

_Marian in the saucy red outfit. She glared at him with her hands on her hips. "She's a leper, you know. We all are." She turned and sashayed off. "We are all lepers. Lepers, lepers, nahnyah nyah nyah nyaaaaaaaah nyah!" Her sing-song voice echoed from the walls._

_"She loves Robin, you know." Guy turned to see Isabella, leaning against a wall in the shadows. "She never loved you. Nobody loves you." Her face turned into that of a gargoyle's. "You are such a loser. You'll never amount to anything but a lackey!" _

_Guy threw his knife at her, but it hit the wall, bouncing into the sand, his sister fading into the night. _

_There was singing behind him. Leaving his knife in the dust, he followed the voice into the square, where Genevieve stood on side of the fountain, dressed in the outrageous black dress he found her in. High heeled shoes and her back to him, she swayed enticingly to music in her head. Hearing him approach, she turned on one toe to face him, slightly off-balance, her hands and free foot waving erratically, before catching and balancing herself. As she came to rest, she began to undulate, her hips rotating slowly and her hands in her hair. "You have a problem, darling." She nodded to his groin._

_"Aye, I do," he whispered breathlessly. "Too many demons...and you."_

_"And me," Genevieve's response was jovial. She smiled and bent over, showing substantially abundant wares. Her fingers went to the edge of the short dress and began to lift it, showing more of her legs, her thigh... the top of her stocking. Her knees and hips were rotating in such a manner, it made him sweat. "Funny, I don't hear you complaining."_

_Guy inhaled, trying to get himself and his libido under control. It wasn't working. He tried to talk sense to this... she-devil. "I love another."_

_She jumped from the low shelf and stalked towards him, much like a predator. He, the hunter, had become the hunted. Before he could move, she grabbed him by his sword belt, pulling him towards her. He was powerless to stop her and it dawned on him he wouldn't have if he could. As he pressed closer, she unlaced his trousers, the cords whipping in the wind, freeing him, exposing him to the desert air. Despite the cold, he was hard, getting harder by the minute. One hand wrapped firmly around him, the other grasped him at the back of his neck and pulled him towards her. "She's dead, darling. Dead and cold and rotting in a sandy grave." The tip of her nose bumped his, teased him, her lips brushing, taunting his own. He opened, trying to capture her breath, but she danced away, this game, tantalizing. She continued to stroke, making him harder, her lips teasing his very breath. "She's as lifeless as an inflatable doll! Wouldn't you rather have a real woman? One who actually loved you? Who would give you the moon?" _

_One moment, she had her hand wrapped around his cock, her breath on his lips._

_The next, he was on his knees, dressed, clothing situated, a broadsword, his bloodied broadsword, at this throat..._

_...wielded by Hood._

_"I should kill you."_

_The Black Knight's eyes fluttered shut. "Please," he begged. "End this now." _

_"I should send you to hell where you belong!" _

_Guy swallowed hard and lifted his chin, giving Locksley an easier target. _

_"But I can't."_

_Guy's eyes snapped open. Again, he was standing, his pants undone, Genevieve standing in front of him with her hand yet again wrapped around him. She was stroking, stroking him and he was so close..._

_"Hood can't send you to hell."_

_Guy closed his eyes, allowed himself to fall into a state of no return._

_Close... sooooo... close..._

_Her hand stroked down, taking the foreskin with the cup of her palm, her thumb caressing the exposed head. "No, can't send you to hell."_

_He began to quiver, unable to stop, even if he wanted to. "Wh...wh...why not?"_

_Her grip firm, his seed ready to burst, she pulled him close, pulled him down and whispered in his ear..._

_"You're already there."_

Guy woke up and immediately bent over, his orgasm overwhelming. When he was completely spent and he regained his breath, he kicked the soiled sheets to the foot of the bed and moved to grab the pillow to put over his face so he could scream his frustration.

But he was stopped by the sight of a still quivering arrow, embedded in his headboard, inches above his head, Hood's voice echoing in the night.

"GISBORNE!"

~~~...~~~

It was pouring when Guy awoke. The room was chilled and he lay naked shivering in the bed. Grabbing the arrow still implanted in his headboard, he broke the shaft, throwing both pieces in the rubbish basket. He damned himself for after making sure Genevieve's shutters were closed and barred, he forgot his own.

_Genevieve!_

His fury renewed, he threw on a loose pair of pants and a tunic - heavy rain meant no one was stirring anywhere, least of all Vaisey - and bolted from his room, to Genevieve's door.

Genevieve was up, dressed and brushing her teeth, when That Man came pounding on her door. Still scrubbing, she threw the door open and took great pleasure in watching his eyes bulge. _He probably thinks I'm rabid; serves him right!_ Waving at him to take a seat, she poured a mug of water - _gag nasty this stuff hasn't been filtered or anything_ - to rinse her mouth, which she spat in the chamber pot, in a most unlady-like manner. "Good morning to you, Guy," she began informally. She took in the loose, comfortable clothing. "Casual Friday at work today?"

"'Tis Wednesday and I have no clue as to what 'Casual Friday' is."

Genevieve started to explain what Casual Friday was, but she knew it would be lost on him, so she changed the subject. "Do you not have any clothing but black?"

"Black suits me," he dead-panned. "I would like to see your arm."

She thrust out her right arm. "Why?"

"Not that one. The other one." He pulled her sleeve up, inspecting it.

No bruises.

"Strange. I could have sworn-"

"What?" She was truly perplexed.

"Last night. Your arm was bruised. It looked as if you had been beaten." Guy still had a hold of her arm, his grip gentle as he turned it back and forth.

"I don't recall inviting you in my room last night."

Guy was focused on her arm and the rash underneath her upper arm. "You had a difficult night. I grew concerned and checked on you." He snorted, but didn't turn her loose. "I suppose it was just the shadow from the candlelight. Tell me," he stroked the rash, "what is this?"

"What?"

Guy momentarily stopped the inspection of her arm. "What is this?"

"It's an allergy and what do you mean I had a difficult night?"

The man blinked. "You had a difficult night." Genevieve continued to stare at him, her arm still held by his hand. Guy decided to embellish his story a bit. "You were crying in your sleep. You could be heard into my room." His thumb gently rubbed the reddened area of the implant site. "I tended to you."

"I don't believe you."

He never lifted his eyes, continuing to inspect the slightly angry, red flesh. It perturbed him that she would openly call him a liar and he forced himself to keep his touch gentle. "Who is 'Lamar'?" Gisborne had to bite back a smile at her sharp intake of breath. Ah, a nerve.

"Where did you hear that name?" It was a harsh whisper.

Guy rubbed around the edge of the inflamed skin, seeming to be engrossed. "That was who you were crying for. I believe you called him a bastard."

She answered without thinking. "He is."

"Why," Guy lifted his eyes to hers, never releasing her arm, "would you associate with someone who is illegitimate?"

Genevieve forced her features to stay calm. What would this man do if her found out she was illegitimate? Toss her out? Send her to a dungeon? Could one be sent to the dungeon for one's lack of married parentage?

_It's not your fault._

"He's not illegitimate. It's just a name. A nasty one."

Guy's smirk was lop-sided. "What is this?" He was now refocused on the irritated skin. "You said it was an allergy?"

Wanting to distance him from the topic of her ex-boyfriend and her own heritage, Genevieve almost welcomed the change of subject, not realizing she was getting ready to open a bigger can of worms. "It's a birth control implant and I'm mildly allergic to it."

The knight's eyes met hers in shock. "Birth control?"

_uh oh... oh well, might as well..._

"Yes. Birth control," Genevieve continued smoothly. "It keeps a woman from conceiving and getting pregnant, until she is ready."

"I thought you said you had no husband." The voice was low, more or less a growl, and Genevieve heard the accusation in it. This infuriated her. How dare he judge her!

"I do not."

"Then why would you need-"

Genevieve interrupted between clenched teeth. "I do not wish to get pregnant yet."

The man's entire visage darkened as black as his clothing. "The marriage bed is sacred!"

"Oh Puh-leeeze!" She threw her head back and yanking her arm from his grasp, thrust both fists on her hips. "Don't tell me you are such a prude!"

Guy's mind was racing, trying to make sense of her objection. "A woman should keep herself for her husband-"

"Are you keeping yourself for your wife-to-be?" She completely missed the storm brewing in the man's eyes. "Are you a virgin, Sir Guy?"

There was thunder outside, but it didn't drown out the argument, neither of them aware the servants had gathered at the foot of the stairs, listening to the battle going on in Genevieve's room. "A man has needs!"

"Yeah, buster! Women have needs as well!" Genevieve's face was as red as Guy's glare was black.

"A woman has needs? Aye. She needs to be taken care of, protected, and kept with children to keep her busy! She should have a household and a husband to tend to!" Too late, he realized she was staring at him as if he were some thing to be pitied and shaking her head.

"A woman needs to be loved and cherished. She needs to feel wanted, needed, not only by her... household... or children, but by her husband most of all. Mostly, she needs to be in control of her own destiny."

Guy snorted. "It sounds as if you think women are accorded the rights of men."

"Neanderthal!" She thrust her arm out, the spot of angry skin visible. "Where I come from, we are!"

Genevieve found herself wrapped in an embrace and pulled forward, almost nose to nose with the man. "God willing, you should soon be returned to your time, where you may have your rights and curse your beloved Lamar!"

"Believe me! I am trying!"

The two stared at each other for some moments, both enamored of the heat they found in each other's eyes. For a moment, Guy seemed to focus on Genevieve's mouth, giving her pause to think he might attempt to kiss her.

It appeared the thought crossed the dark knight's mind. He leaned closer, his lips hovering a scant few inches above hers, his exhaled breath on her cheek. However, rather than descend or take advantage, he whispered. "I suspect we have given the servants enough to chatter about this morning. If you do not mind, perhaps we should make our way to breakfast." He turned her loose and backed up a few steps, giving her a path to her door.

The sudden distance and cool air between them brought Genevieve up in confusion. "That would be a good idea." She turned and headed towards the door. "Best thing you've said all morning." She left the room, leaving Guy standing at the foot of the bed, sneering.

At the sound of Genevieve stomping down the upstairs hallway, the servants scattered, straightening the table, the platters of food. All of them acted as if nothing had gone on upstairs and that they hadn't heard the heated words. Despite their anger, Guy pulled out the heavy chair for Genevieve and slid it under the table.

They ate in an uncomfortable silence.

It dawned on Guy that this morning, he did not have a hangover. Sadly, he didn't know what was worse: the nightmares or the hangover. As of late, he had both, therefore the alcohol was no longer doing its job. This was bothersome. Almost as bothersome as the conversation that had taken place earlier about birth control and women with needs and -

"Are you not going to Nottingham today?" Her voice was soft, as if she feared she would disturb the downpour.

"No. It is raining." He didn't look up from his trencher, stabbing at another piece of sausage.

"I guess riding a horse in this weather is awful and a carriage would get stuck in the mud."

Small talk. Guy fought the urge to roll his eyes. He was horrible at it, tended to talk in circles uncomfortably, especially around women. Not to mention, _this_ woman had a penchant to discuss the most incredibly unladylike subjects. He grunted.

Apparently, that gave Genevieve the notion that she was to prattle on.

"Thank you for bringing the dressmaker. I hope the expense isn't horrid."

_Clothing. Dear God in Heaven. His least favorite subject at all. How women could blather on and on and on and on... _

"Do not mention it."

"I appreciate it so much." Guy looked upwards, seeing the page in the shadows. His glare caused the boy to step back warily further, terrified to be seen.

"The dressmaker, Isandra, said my clothing should be ready by Friday."

"Do not mention it."

Genevieve was focused on her food, completely oblivious to the fact the storm outside did not compare to the thunderous fury about to erupt in the chair next to hers. "I imagine it would be a relief to you. I guess I'm dressed pretty outlandi-"

"GENEVIEVE! SHUT! IT!"

The entire hall came to a stand still. Dust could be heard settling. The knight continued to work on what was left on his plate.

"There is no need to be-"

"Lady Genevieve." It was spat through clenched teeth. "There is nothing I cannot stand more than useless, idle chatter."

_Finally. Blessed silence. Now he could concentrate on the rest of his breakfast._ He was wretchedly aware that she quietly pushed her chair back.

"Well then," she whispered, "I suppose your own inner thoughts drive you insane." She rose from the table. "God knows there isn't much up there but rocks, anyway!" With that, she stormed from the table, the hall, and up the stairs, making very little noise, truth be told. The slamming of her door echoed through the home, Guy's goblet raised halfway to his lips.

His eyes rolled into the back of his head. "What a man has to do to have a peaceful meal." He made a mental note to himself. His wife, when he got around to it, needed to be mute. It wasn't lost on him that little servant girl - what was her name? - and Thornton, were looking at him with pity. He started to growl at them, but decided it was a waste of energy. It was raining, he hadn't slept well in months and quite frankly, he was feeling rather lethargic. It did not help that the argument from earlier was weighing heavily on his mind. "Are the estate ledgers in my office?"

"Yes, Sir Guy." As always, Thornton's tone was pleasant and respectful. If he was upset by Guy's treatment of Genevieve, he didn't show it in the least. "You should find them in order."

"I am sure I will." He stood up. "I am simply bored." With that, he removed himself from the table and retrieving the ledgers from his office, retired to his room to look busy.

He knew he would have company shortly and the company would be a tumultuous explosion of female fury. Fury that he prayed was connected to intelligent conversation and answers to his questions.

That, he looked forward to.

~~~...~~~

Genevieve was in a fine snit. That man's moods changed like the wind! So caring and gentle one minute and then all in her shit the next. And his ideas on women's needs? Opening her shutters to pouring rain, she sank into the chair and stared at the water - laden fields.

_It's the time period, the male mind - set, the man is a drunken mess at night and is probably hung over to the bone..._

She wished she could access the internet on her iPad, look up the laws, the customs, the culture of this time. Early in her career, her previous employer had done business with a Saudi group. She didn't like how the men... looked at her... whispered. She realized before the end of the day that the senior architects kept the women working for the firm in very subservient positions - coffee, drinks. Otherwise, women like Genevieve, were kept busy elsewhere and none of them worked on the Saudi project at all. At the time, Genevieve didn't think on it; she had a job, she had a paycheck. But later, especially after she founded her own firm, she did think on it.

_You are either a member of the nobility, a peasant or a Bride of Christ. I do not believe you are any of that._

_You are as strange to them as they are to you._

Genevieve shook her head. Culture shock. What a concept. That a man would be excused for taking care of his needs, but for a woman to even acknowledge hers...

If she continued on this vein, she'd be too angry to work. Genevieve flung herself from the chair and pulled her gym bag from under the bed. Pulling out the iPad and notebook, along with a pen, she settled back into the chair. It was cool out, the rain bringing a definite chill to the air, but it cooled her temper against the man. He was what he was. And right now, he was giving her free room and board. If he wanted silence, by God, she could give him silence!

Maybe.

For some long minutes, she sat, her face pointed towards the autumnal rainy breeze. This fall here, was much different, pleasant actually, from fall in Atlanta. The city itself was hot, stifling; the pollution and smog overbearing and stifling most days. It usually didn't begin to truly cool down until late October and early November, From this angle, the wind direction, the air actually smelled... good. No scent of the latrine or the barns or unwashed bodies... just the smell of rain.

This ruminating wasn't getting her anywhere. Val said as soon as she finished, she could come home. She turned on the iPad and thumbed to where she left off. She then opened her notebook, only to stare, frozen in space at her 'translation' side with her notes.

**What is stock?**

She inhaled deeply.

"GUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUY! DAMN YOUR BLACK SOUL TO HELL!"

~~~...~~~

Genevieve's screech was heard not only through out the manse, but throughout the village green as well. Women leaned out their open doors, to look towards the Hall of Locksley. Men huddled closer to whatever they were working over. In the kitchen, Thornton put a restraining hand on Joffrey, nodding his head negatively. "Let them sort this out," he whispered. "'Tis time he faced a woman who will openly dance with him."

"Dance? Don't sound like no dancin' to me."

Thornton was smiling slightly. "Verbally sparring - a spirited dance, to be sure. Lady Marian kept her distance." He now began to nod, as footsteps jarred the household. "This one does not." Deep in his soul, Thornton felt this 'Lady Genevieve' was a good match for Sir Guy. The gale that brewed between them was building like an electrical storm and was felt by the rest of the household, a chemistry that was never felt with Sir Guy's former betrothed, which in all honesty was colder than a blizzard.

Now if only the two could see it.

Genevieve stormed past the master bedroom, having to back up when she realized he was in his bedroom.

Guy was seated, his large booted feet up on the table and what looked like a ledger open in his lap. One hand drifted leisurely across the page, reading the columns, the purchases, the expenditures of his estate. The other was propped on the arm of the chair, one finger up and Genevieve's fuzzy handcuffs were lazily being spun around the long digit. Despite having his back to her, he - obviously - heard her coming and when the loose cuff came around, he snatched it from the air and put his hand down to his side, between the chair and the wall.

"You shrieked?"

"Guy-"

"For your information, it is well established and a well known fact that I am going to hell. No need to announce it to the staff, or the village."

"Dam-"

"Your language," he interrupted drolly, never looking up, "is most unladylike and has much to be desired. "

"I don't give a flying-"

"It offends my ears." He slowly turned the page, his free hand continuing to follow the lines. "God only knows what the servants and peasants think - a reputed _'lady_' speaking like a common strumpet."

Genevieve snorted inelegantly. Truth was, he _was_ right. Her language was typically confined to her thoughts. "Eleanor has already suggested I attend confession with the local priest," she mumbled under her breath.

Now Guy turned his attention on Genevieve, looking up through long, dark lashes. "Eleanor? Is that her name?" He turned back to the ledger, seemingly more interested as to what was on the page.

"Do not change the subject!"

"I was not aware we had established a subject," the knight muttered, secretly enjoying the looming tempest. He marked his place on the column with his finger. Raising an eyebrow, he glanced at the irate woman sideways. "That is unless you wish to discuss your clothing again." His attention returned to the tome in his lap. "If that is the case, the door is behind you. Use it."

Her notebook slammed down on top of his hand, the page opened to her notes and his remark. Guy slowly drew his hand from underneath the paper, reading again, her notes. "You wrote this?"

"You wrote it!"

His face scrunched up in question. "I wrote what?"

Genevieve's finger jammed down on the page. "That! You wrote that!"

Leisurely, his eyes trailed down her arm to where her finger pointed. He cocked his head sideways. "What," he read slowly, "is stock." He nodded once and rested his full attention on the very angry woman standing next to him. Surreptitiously, he kept his other hand between the chair and the wall, continuing to slowly swing the handcuffs back and forth on his hooked finger. "What is 'stock', Genevieve?"

Her jaw fell slack, something that amused the man to no end. "You didn't come into my room last night to check on me! You went through my things!"

Guy made no attempt to deny it; it was never his intention to deny it. The proof was sitting in his lap, with her finger pointing to his purposeful transgression. He picked _this_ fight, it was up to him to control it to find the information he wanted. Taking his feet off the table, he lifted both notebook and ledger balanced beneath with his free hand and set them gently where his feet had been. Finally, he lifted his hand playing with her 'toy' and propping his elbows on the table, began to fidget with the handcuffs, rolling them around both index fingers. "You became upset in the night, which disturbed me. After tending to you, I tripped over your satchel, which was sticking out from under the bed. Joffrey and Thornton both mentioned that something you were working on upset you greatly yesterday and I admit to looking to see what it was. I will not deny it; I will not apologize." His smile was insincere and Genevieve knew it. "I want to help you return to your home." Without warning, he seized the swinging manacles and stared up at the woman. "What is stock?"

For a moment, he thought she would turn, leave, walk out, curse again.

"Why would they want your cows?"

She inhaled.

"Cows? I don't have any cows! Stock is a monetary investment."

Gisborne thought on that for a minute. He had paid his friend Lambert to develop a formula, an invention of explosive black powder; something that should have brought him power and wealth. The advances in mining would have been tremendous, speeding the process up, eliminating much of the loss of life. But Lambert changed the terms of their agreement - or attempted to - and as a result, Guy lost the formula, the invention, any money he would have made, and his friend.

Vaisey had killed him. Guy had few friends and those he cherished. Lambert was intelligent and Guy enjoyed his company and his conversation. The man's death grieved him, still haunted him. For all of his position, he had been powerless to prevent it.

"Explain."

"An investment." Genevieve sank on the edge of the bed, clearly searching for an explanation he could understand. "Imagine, you have a friend who has developed a new type of hay. It grows faster, you can get more cuttings from it, it's more filling, so you can feed more horses. Thing is, he doesn't have enough money to plant the field. He needs... oh... 100... oh what is your currency?" Her hand rotated in a nervous circle.

"Crowns."

She nodded. "Crowns it is. He needs 100 crowns to create enough to plant his field, but he only has 60 crowns. You give him 40. The agreement is, when he sells his crops, instead of paying you back 40 crowns, he'll pay you back 40% of his entire share."

Guy thought for a moment. "If he makes a profit, that would be a smart move."

"A very smart move," Genevieve agreed. "Thing is, many people simply keep reinvesting it, over and over and over. Or they hang on to it and sell when it's worth a lot of money, when they need money, or when it looks as if it's not going to make as much money."

Guy was nodding. "Stock. Investment."

"Yes."

He tapped her notebook. "This Fickle-butt person-"

"It's pronounced 'Beaut'."

One side of Guy's lip raised. "He is paying you for your stock?"

Genevieve shook her head. "They are buying my business, not my investment in it. It was never discussed. Not until this hidden addendum."

That caught Guy's attention. "Hidden? As in secret?"

"Yeah." Genevieve was no longer guarding her words. "The contract sent to me was straight up. There was a casual reference made to an addendum, which was never sent to me, but sent to my attorney - my solicitor." Again, Guy's eyebrow shot up in question. "My lawyer. He's versed in law."

"The King is the law."

"We don't have a king and no, I don't want to discuss it now!" Genevieve's throat was parched and she motioned for Guy's wine goblet. Draining the mead, she handed the empty pewter back. "It bothers me they didn't send me the addendum. Instead, they sent it to my attorney, who has been preoccupied with other things. His secretary sent me the addendum just before..." her voice trickled off.

"Just before what?"

"Just before I came here," she whispered. Leaning backwards on the bed, she flung her arms out over the mattress and reverted back to the original subject. "It bothers me they didn't send me the addendum. Lawfully and ethically, they should have. By bypassing me-"

"They are hiding something. If they concealed this from you, what else are they hiding?" Guy's shadow splayed over the bed, over her. He leaned against the bedpost, his arms crossed and looking down.

_When was the last time you had a woman in your bed, Gisborne?_

"Yeah. They're trying to keep me in the dark and that bothers me." Genevieve was deep in thought and not paying much attention to the eddy of emotions coming from her benefactor.

"Who are you?" his voice barely heard.

Genevieve was concentrating on the curtains above the bed. "Genevieve Robinson."

"Why are you here?" Guy was picking his nails, doing everything to keep from joining her on the bed.

"To figure this out. To get my priorities in order." If the woman in the bed was aware he was quietly interrogating her, she did not appear to be bothered by it. "Val said it was quiet here."

"Val?"

"My office manager. She came to me in a dream." Suddenly, she lifted her head and looked at him, reclining on her elbows and scrutinizing his features. "Do you have dreams? Really life-like, 'I'm here at this party' dreams?"

Remembering his dream from the previous night, Guy snorted and threw himself from the post. "Believe me; my dreams are no party." Feeling needy and not liking it, Guy stepped backwards and grabbed the notebook. "Why?" He shook it at her. "Why go through this if you have the original?"

Genevieve pulled herself up, as if suddenly aware she had placed herself in a vulnerable position. "I can't read it in its original state. It's in legal-ease." Guy cocked an eyebrow in question. "The language is very formal. It helps if I write it down and then I can write all over it, make notes," she pointed to the tablet he held. "Like that."

"Where is the original?"

"Well... I..."

Guy was all seriousness and business again. "Surely, you are getting this," he pointed to her transcribed version in her notebook, "from somewhere. I would like to see it."

She tried to put him off. "The writing is very small." The man shrugged. By God, the man shrugged! "It's a Twenty-first century gadget. You'll find it odd."

With a suddenness Genevieve was not expecting, Guy dropped the notebook on the small table behind him, climbed on the mattress, straddling her, backing her up, higher into the bed. "I find you odd." When she could go no further, one hand came up, caressing the side of her face. The touch was infinitely gentle, his mouth on the sensitive spot at her ear. "Tell me, Lady Genevieve, with your modern birth control, if I made love to you this minute, would we have to worry about conceiving a child?"

"Uhm..." Her body was coming to life. "No."

"Or tonight, tomorrow, Sunday?"

Her eyes were closed, every nerve in her body, screaming...

"No."

As suddenly as he covered her, he backed up, gently removing her arms from around his neck - something she didn't realize she had done. "That is nice to know," he breathed. "Go retrieve your... odd gadget."

With the look of a cornered thief, she scampered from beneath him, hurried to her room, Guy's devious chuckle well heard. She was a long time in her room, so long Guy thought to reclaim her, but he decided that she was simply trying to get herself in order, much like he was. After several long minutes, she returned with the larger of the black slates in her hand. Turning it on, she handed it to him. "This is the equivalent of a lot of books, of notes." Guy watched in rapt horror as she pressed pictures, moved things across the screen with her fingers. She came to the document and pulled it up. "It starts here," she pointed. "You turn the pages like this," she brushed her fingers across the flat screen. With a snort, Guy waved her hand away, dragging his finger across the screen, much like he did his ledgers and becoming annoyed with the thing's bouncy retort.

"Close the door," he admonished. "There are those who would call this witchcraft and I chose not to burn this day."

"Guy, if we shut the door, won't the servants-"

"Not if they wish to keep their tongues." His eyes never left the screen and he ignored her sharply inhaled gasp. He was squinting. "How can you read this? It is small-"

"That's the problem." She shut the door gently, hoping and praying no one said anything. "After a short time, it gives me a horrid headache."

Guy said nothing, concentrating on the information on the object in front of him. '_Strange,'_ he thought to himself, _'the things of her world.' _ He wanted to ask her of war machines, and if black powder had truly been invented. He wanted to inquire of armor, how bows, arrows and swords had been improved. He wondered who won this crusade, this war of Rome's that England's coffers were being drained for, what would happen to Englishmen, men like himself, Vaisey, John... What wondrous, horrible things had changed, for the better, for worse...

"What is a 'retirement package'?" He was now lying across his bed on his back, the iPad in the air over his head, reflecting the muted light from his window.

"You can read that?"

He nodded, not taking his eyes off the printed word. "It is small, but aye, it is in perfect English." He looked at her in disdain. "I have no idea why you have problems understanding it." He returned to the iPad, his long, elegant fingers touching the screen and moving things back and forth.

"A retirement package is something an employer and an employee put together over the years they work for the company. That way when they retire, or stop working, they have something to provide for them."

Guy made a moue, as if pondering a great conundrum. "You help provide for them when they become too old or infirm to work?"

"Well, of course!" Genevieve was always quick to champion her employees. "Why shouldn't I? They work hard for me; they've made me wealthy and successful! I have several clients who hired my firm not because of me, but because of the creativeness of several of my employees. If it weren't for them, their ingenuity, I wouldn't have a lot of the work I have." Now she shrugged. "Look at it as a reward for hard work that pays off. Doesn't the Sheriff reward you for a job well done?"

This caught Guy unawares. Was he not bound to Vaisey, John, for the same reason? If they succeeded, he would be rewarded with more land, power, probably a title beyond 'Sir'. His father - a common knight - was rewarded for his service to the Crown, for his future, his family... the very Gisborne lands, his very title, were in a sense, his father's retirement...

_Only to be lost to that sniveling brat, Robin..._

"Is something wrong, Guy?" Genevieve was standing next to the bed, a very concerned look on her face. "Do they want the retirement packages as well?"

With a sigh, Guy laid the iPad down. The thing had now given him a headache as well and he rolled from the bed. "No. They do not want the retirement packages." He stood up and stretched, the vertebra in his back, popping. Genevieve didn't seem to notice, busy in deep thought. "They want the stock in the retirement packages and they want you to compensate your employees with your funds for the stock."

"WHAT?" Genevieve looked up, fury already evident. "They want my stock, at no extra charge and now they want the stock in my employees retirement package as well?" She didn't realize that the Black Knight was now standing less than inch from her, towering over her, leisurely perusing her form.

"And you to reimburse your peasants from your funds." He lifted a finger, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, exposing the shell to the air.

"Oh no! Oh no! I do NOT think so! Oh-"

"Often," he whispered in her ear, bringing her up. "but you spelled it wrong. O.H.T.T.F.N."

Genevieve was not aware how much peril she was in. "It doesn't mean that."

"What does it mean?"

She turned her head to look at him, realizing too late that his mouth was an inch from hers. "You have complained about my unlady-like language." He could feel her breath on his jaw. "Rather than singe your ears, let's just say it's an ugly way to say 'Oh no!'" She licked her lips nervously. "They can't have it." She couldn't move. His hand was on her waist and he was drawing her closer, closer to him, closer into him.

"They want it."

She swallowed. "They can't have it," she whispered.

"Playing hard to get?" Genevieve shook her head. Catching her off-guard, he reached out and pulled her completely against him. "But they want it, my lady. They are rather adamant about it. And," his voice dropped lower, "I want you."

With that, his mouth descended.

_**~~~...~~~**_

_**No, it's just a thought**_

_**~~~...~~~**_


	8. 7 arrogant

_**Manna from Heaven**_

_**Chapter 07**_

_**...arrogant...**_

His mouth descended.

His kiss caught Genevieve unawares, off-guard, but she was still shocked at the gentleness of it. Much like her first forays into kissing, it was sweet, questioning, and almost shy, something she wouldn't believe from this man.

_It's like butterflies... being kissed by a butterfly..._

In a peculiar way and when she would think back on it, she felt as if he were asking permission, standing outside the door of her heart, requesting, almost pleading for admission. And somewhere in the haze of its simplicity, Genevieve forgot Lamar, forgot her heartbreak and kissed him back.

At that point, they both fell in the abyss, the heat, of each other.

It was when his mouth left hers, to blaze a trail to her ear, the one that was over responsive, that she came to her senses and pulled back.

"Guy."

He drew her back, his lips returning to tease the sensitive bit of flesh. Genevieve's knees buckled and again, she attempted to pull away. "Guy, please. Stop."

Somewhere in fog of need and lust, he heard her crying out and it wasn't in passion. As much as it pained him, he pulled away. "Genevieve?" She was looking down, at the floor, at the small space between their feet.

"I'm... sorry," She was shaking her head. "I... I am afraid I would be an easy conquest and a poor substitute." She started to pull away further. "It's unfair..." her voice trailed away.

"A poor substitute for what?"

"Her." It was enough, said it all. "I'm sorry. I'm really in a bad place right now." With that, she yanked herself away and throwing the door open, she tore through the hallway and down the stairs.

Leaving her iPad and the notebook on the bed. Guy's fist beat a painful rhythm on his thigh, listening to the servants raise an alarm and her answering reply. Joffrey's sudden shout, raised the knight's concern.

"Lady Genevieve! 'Tis pourin', it is!"

Again, a murmured reply. Quickly, Guy stepped to the window, mostly to cool his ardor, only to see Genevieve tear out of the manse, dodging puddles, his old heavy leather coat raised above her head.

And head straight towards the church.

~~~...~~~

Genevieve needed air, she needed respite, but mostly, she needed to go somewhere quiet where she could ruminate not only on the information about her stock, but her feelings for Guy.

_Feelings? What feelings? More like get her raging hormones under control._

The rain was torrential, a downpour, much like it had been the one vacation trip she took to Florida, only to have a tropical storm tear through and utterly destroy the week. Keeping Guy's huge coat over her, she focused on her feet, jumping over tiny ponds, no clue of the direction she was taking.

_She wanted that kiss, enjoyed it, wanted more. It killed her to pull back, what about Lamar? _

What about Lamar? It bothered her that perhaps she was getting over him too quickly, that the breakup wasn't affecting her like it should have if she truly loved him. Right now, she was angrier in the way he chose to break it off; via a phone message, called when he knew she would be at the gym, so cowardly.

So very cowardly.

Looking back now, she saw the red flags of the relationship, warnings she didn't heed, paid no attention to. So wrapped up in her fantasy, she'd ignored them, neglected the intricacies of the sale of her company, didn't follow up as she should with her attorney.

So much at her feet; so much her fault.

_You need to get your priorities straightened out, chickie-poo._

Genevieve suddenly realized that she stood in the shadow of what passed for the hamlet's church.

_A quiet place to reflect..._

Steeling herself, she pressed on the latch, mildly surprised when the door opened.

The church was dark, the sound of the rain outside giving the place a peaceful feeling. Genevieve shrugged from under the huge coat - honestly, how did he walk around wearing it? It weighed a ton! She shook the water off and made her way to a quiet looking spot. Laying it gently across the pew, she sank down next to it, the smell of wet leather permeating the large room.

_You need to get your priorities straightened out, chickiepoo..._

Val was right. For the first time since she arrived three days before, Genevieve had an inkling of exactly why she was here - if she wasn't dead. For the first time, the thought occurred to her that her relationship with Lamar was an unhealthy one, which bothered her tremendously. Thinking back over the past few years, it became clear that she was nothing more than an arm-ornament for the man; someone to show off, for people to admire. He wasn't there for her, truly hadn't been supportive of her or much of anything for quite sometime. What had been decent sex in the beginning had gone down hill so suddenly...

Why hadn't this occurred to her sooner? So wrapped up in the social whirl of his circle...

_You would have been stuck with The Gator for a mother-in law. She would be grandmother to your children! She would have attempted to limit Gramma's time with her great-grandchildren and the panty wipe would have backed her up. You would have had no emotional support whatsoever. _

Genevieve silent thanked her Maker for getting her out of that mess.

But she still had feelings for the man, if she didn't, it wouldn't hurt and it was hurting. Despite everything...

Which brought her to her next problem.

_You cannot replace an unhealthy relationship with yet another unhealthy relationship! Not to mention what happens when you finish translating that contract?_

Which face it would go faster with that man's help.

_That kiss..._

Maybe not.

Rebounding. A girl's worst fear - whether she be doing the rebounding or dating a man who was rebounding. And both rebounding at the same time could definitely be the problem here. Not to mention, she supposedly wasn't staying in this place. When she managed to get through the contract, from what Val insinuated, she would be returning to her time.

To a broken body.

Then again, if this was hell, Sir Snarksalot rebounding, her rebounding for all eternity...

Yep. This was hell.

"You look weary, child. Can I help you"

Genevieve was yanked from her musings, to look into the brown eyes of a kindly priest. She blurted the first thing that came to mind.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

His chuckle was enlightening. "Have not we all?" The man's head dropped with a sad smile on his face. "And what horrible, wretched things have you done that would cause you to search out the confessional in such weather, Lady Genevieve?"

For a moment , she was shocked he knew her name. But then upon thinking, she realized she had been the source of much gossip, even if she had hid in the manse. "That man makes me curse like a sailor," she admitted. "Why must he be such an ah..." she cut herself off. Swearing in the House of God. No. _Oh no no no no no_! "- difficult human being?"

"Ah, Sir Guy," the priest began slowly, "is quite the conundrum and in a thorny and complex position. Truthfully, on his own, he is not an over-bearing taskmaster. Certainly no worse than Robin of Locksley or Lord Robin's father," The man nodded into the gloom of the church. "Sadly, he serves wicked taskmasters and he is in no position to leave or betray them. The cost to him and his would be dear." The man turned blue eyes on the young woman sitting in the pew behind him. "Believe me, he sees what the excessive taxation is doing to his people. Sir Guy has very strong opinions about this... crusade... our King has involved us all in. And he has very strong opinions about John, even if he does not wish to ponder them at this time. He will have to sooner than later. " The man patted the top of the pew. "You look chilled. Wait here." He rose from the bench and wandered off to what Genevieve thought would be the back and most likely the priest's small apartment or quarters. As he moved away, she could hear him singing off-key under his breath...

_Ut purus non habes, an mulier quaedam erat in caveam gradu sis fur , Etiam potest diabolus sit amet servire Domino sed quis es_

The tune was vaguely familiar and Genevieve struggled to place it.

_This is ridiculous!_

Absent-mindedly, she brushed the remaining drops of water from the leather coat next to her. _'You know, you didn't even ask permission to borrow it. He might be ticked off about that_. '

"Child. Come." Genevieve was roused from her musings, to see the priest set an earthen goblet and a small plate of bread on the communion altar. He stepped back, motioning to the chalice. "I apologize for the plainness of my hall," he smiled gently. "But you will find the tea to be warm and soothing and the bread fresh. Please." Again, he invited her forward. He pulled a cloth of linen from his tie belt. "I will dry Sir Guy's coat while you relax and talk to me."

"I should have asked to borrow it." Genevieve made her way to the front of the little chapel. "I suppose if it upsets him, he'll come for it." She lifted the goblet, surprised to find it warm.

"Oh no," the priest began to wipe at the supple leather. "Sir Guy will not step foot into this chapel, not if his very life depended on it."

Genevieve turned, the bread in her hands. It too was warm, as if it had just come from the oven or had been sitting next to the hearth. "Is he athie-"

"Mentioning that word," the priest admonished her, "or even admitting to that will get one hung or burned at the stake." He returned to the drying of the coat. "No, he is neither one nor the other. This place simply has wretchedly painful memories for him." It was quiet for a moment. "He questions many things, including his purpose in life."

"Bad memories?" Genevieve held out the bread, to share, but the priest shook his head.

"Please eat. I am not hungry." Finally satisfied that the coat was dry, he laid it gently across the pew. "He was to marry Lady Marian here. The wedding did not go as planned and rather than walk from this place with a bride on his arm, he left with a black eye and the sight of his wedding ring thrown on the floor. "

This information threw Genevieve into a tailspin. "But... he loves her still."

"He loves a dream, a fantasy, but I," the man's hazel eyes sparkling, "would never tell him that." He motioned to Genevieve's goblet on the communion table. "More tea?"

"Yes. Please." She started to hand it to him, but he snatched it from the altar. "There is chamomile in it, isn't there?" She watched as he wandered to the alcove behind the altar.

"Aye." His voice echoed from the back. "Do you find it calming?"

Genevieve was now leaning against the pulpit, her arms crossed. "A friend of mine used to brew it for me when I was stressed. Val made a great cup of tea."

"Ah," The priest came from behind the curtain and set the goblet back on the altar. "You are not from here, are you, child?"

She quickly buried her nose in the goblet. "I... uh... don't know where I'm from. Hard knock on the head, I guess." She set the goblet down and picked up the last of the bread. "I imagine it must be somewhere outlandish!" She nodded towards her pants.

"Your living arrangements-"

"Nothing is happening! I swear it!"

The priest stopped at her interruption. "The alternatives are no better, if at all. Nottingham Castle is quite dangerous and Ripley Convent would not suit you, I do not believe." He tilted his head, eyes now turning a brilliant green. "No one is talking about the fact you are living with the man without a proper chaperone and could care less, if it puts him in a sweeter temper. In fact, many of the local women are jealous. They seem to think he is a handsome man, very well-wrought, although I would know nothing of that. It's a well known fact that Kate, the potter's daughter, is living openly in the forest with Robin Hood, that a female Saracen girl lived in the woods before that, and even Lady Marian lived in the woods with Robin for a short time after her father died, even if Sir Guy chooses to ignore that. It is not a thing people are talking about. They are, however, talking about your outlandish method of dress, or lack of it." Again, he tipped his head and smiled. "I would gather the women are envious of that as well." He nodded towards her jeans. "They seem to be easier to move about in."

"Well, I'm getting new clothes by Friday. Hopefully," she muttered, "I won't stick out so much."

"Oh, you will stick out, regardless." The priest was now leaning against a post. "Now, pray tell, what was it truly that had you dashing through the rain to the church?"

Genevieve sank to the floor, her knees together. "A few things, to be honest." She had no idea the place she sat was in fact the exact same spot where Sir Guy had knelt to take his vows. She thought for a moment. How to explain this without tipping her hand? "I fear I am running from something."

"An unwanted marriage, perhaps?" The priest nodded benevolently. "This is quite common in this time."

Genevieve started to ask '_Like Marian and Guy?'_ but decided it would be best not to. "Not quite." Thrusting her hands between her knees, she continued, "There are decisions I need to make and they are unpleasant."

"Ah." The man nodded sagely.

"Thing is, I have to go home to make them and..."

"You cannot find your way home."

"No." It was a delicate whisper. "I have to get my priorities in order."

"Do you know what your priorities are, Genevieve?" He was now standing over her, gray eyes, concerned. "Not only the priorities of your mind, but those of your heart as well."

She raised her head, confused as the constant change of the man's features. "The heart? That's the worst. How does one leave an unhealthy relationship?" She looked down, watching her knees swing back and forth, her hands still tucked between them. "That's what I'm running from. He doesn't love me and I'm realizing that I don't really care. And what if one is attracted to another unhealthy relationship?"

"One step at a time, dear. One step at a time. Do not rule out love just because you are hurting." The priest cocked his head and tilted sideways. "I believe the rain has stopped." Continuing to look towards the thatched roof, he continued. "I absolve you of your sins, Genevieve Robinson. No Hail Marys or rosaries. Just live and love."

For several moments, she pondered on what the man said before looking up.

He was gone.

She started to call out, but decided against it. Rising from the step, she walked down the aisle, picking up the dried leather coat and opening the door discovered indeed, the rain had stopped for the time being. The day was gray and the promise of more rain filled the air, a cold wind blowing. Genevieve considered putting the coat on, but it would have dragged the ground. She stepped outside, into the town proper and again watching for puddles, made her way back to Locksley Manor. Again, the stench from the waste and the animals became over-whelming and Genevieve caught herself holding her breath until she reached the relative slightly cleaner air of the manse. Stepping up to the threshold, she realized the door was open and that Guy leaned on the side of the frame, arms crossed and watching her intently. He held a half-eaten pear in his hand.

"Did Father Thomas hear your confession?" he jeered.

_Priorities priorities priorities..._

"Yes." She hung his coat back on the hook, making sure there wasn't a drop of water on it. "He said I was absolved from swearing and living with you was penance enough for any sin I will commit." With that, she stalked off, hips swinging as she mounted the stairs.

"Genevieve." The knight was now contemplating the pear in his hand. She stopped on the landing above. "Do you trust me?" Her silence was frightening and it caused his gut to clench.

"Do I have a choice?"

Slowly, he looked up at her, his eyes a stormy grey to match the day outside. His very stance oozed arrogance. "That is not an answer."

Genevieve's eyes locked with his. "Yes, I do."

Guy never looked down. "We are friends?"

This brought Genevieve up. Somehow, she had the feeling that 'friends' to this man meant something wholly different that what 'friends' meant back home and she didn't want to commit to an admission of anything until she knew exactly what he meant by 'friends'.

"We'll have to work on that."

She heard his snort and saw his lop-sided grin. With a nod of his head, effectively dismissing her, he turned his gaze to the renewing rain and continued to eat the fruit in his hand. The sound of his teeth sinking into the flesh of the produce echoed into the rafters.

How long Genevieve watched him, she didn't know. But eventually, she returned to her room, exhaustion over-coming her. As she crawled on top of the bed, she discovered her forgotten iPad and notebook laid by the pillow. The notebook was opened and what would become his familiar archaic scrawl was etched at the bottom of her notes.

_**They want stock from retirement packages and for yew to paye. OHTTFN? Tell them noe. Parte II, yew maye not compete or goe into business of architecture thirty years in United States or Europe. What is United States? What is this writing sticke I am using? Nice.**_

No compete? For thirty years? Anywhere? Unless she moved to China, but who wanted to move to China? Flipping the notebook, she saw where the man had painstakingly written out - translated - what was in the addendum. Sure enough, in long-winded, obscure... legel-ease...

_Upon completion of sale, seller agrees to abstain from competition within the business... to ensure absence of conflict of interest, seller will not employ... seller will not establish new contacts... seller will not establish new clients... seller will abandon contacts...seller will not employ or consult with any other firm..._

_...seller will not... seller will not... seller will not..._

No compete. No going back into business. No bidding on anything. Not even _working_ for another architecture firm for thirty years. Just in case her new firm 'accidentally' competes with Ficklebutte. What the hell was she supposed to do for a living?

Why did they want her out of the business?

_This can't be right._

Genevieve grabbed her iPad. Certainly there was a mistake, he made a mistake, he didn't see... she pressed and pressed.

The battery in the iPad was dead.

~~~...~~~

_The night was cold. Not bitter cold, but cold, nonetheless. From nowhere, a sweater was draped over her shoulders._

_"Thanks, Val."_

_"You're welcome, chickie-poo" _

_For a time, the two looked into the night, watching the sky. "You know, Val, when I was a girl," Genevieve whispered, "my grandmother would lay out in the back yard with me and point out all of the constellations." She pointed to the northeast. "That's Andromeda." Her finger continued to float from star to star. "And that's Pisces..." her voice drifted off. "Tell me the truth, Val. Am I dead?" _

_"No honey. You're not dead."_

_"Is this all a drug-induced dream?"_

_"This here," Val's hand encompassed the hamlet below them, "is a dream. The life you are living in Locksley, is not." She waited for Genevieve to digest that information. "Your body is there. Your mind is here."_

_They watched as an ethereal child ran through the village, laughing._

_"Alternative universe?"_

_"Alternative time." _

_"I'm alive there and I'm really living this here?" Genevieve dropped her hand and looked at the ageless woman. "You swear."_

_Two fingers up. "Angel's word."_

_Genevieve stared at her, before snorting. "You. An angel. Yeah, right."_

_Val shrugged. _

_"I was in a wreck, wasn't I?" _

_"Yes, chickie-poo." _

_"A bad one?" _

_"Very bad." Val reached over and hugged her close. "You are lucky to be alive. Someone on the corner with a clear head stayed with you until the ambulance came. Made sure you were immobilized. Probably saved your life."_

_"Do you know who he was?" _

_"Yes. He's been thanked."_

_Genevieve's attention returned to the sky. "Does Gramma know?"_

_Val exhaled. "Yes. She is sitting with you now. Your attorney sent a car for her." _

_"George?" _

_"He wanted to fly her down as it would have been faster, but she won't have anything to do with those-"_

_"Shiny, fangled planes!" Both women laughed. _

_Again, the two women contemplated the sky. _

_"Has Lamar-"_

_"No."_

_"Oh."_

_"Does he know?"_

_"Yes. Most certainly. You made the front page of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. And the late night news on all four television stations."_

_"Oh.""_

_A finger lifted her chin. "Are you fretting over him?" _

_Genevieve scowled and tore her face from her friend's gentle touch. "Not as much as I thought I would."_

_"Good." _

_"Of course," she continued, "I have Leather-clad Sex Walking keeping my hormones occupied!" _

_Again, the woman put her arm around Genevieve and pulled her close. "You let Leather-clad Sex Walking keep them occupied. You enjoy him as much as he'll let you." She nodded. "Val's orders."_

_"Val!" Genevieve was truly exasperated. "I can't fall in love with him."_

_"Why not?" The woman was focusing on the small, rough cottages across the pond. "He's unattached, has all of his teeth, he's the right age. You said yourself, he's sex-walking."_

_"Val!" _

_Val wiggled her head. "He's quite virile and I promise you, there are things you're curious about, that he would be equally curious in exploring if the subject was brought up correctly So explore!" She wagged her eyebrows. "You have no secrets from me."_

_"Fine!" Genevieve was quite put out. "Then you know that I'm rebounding and so is he!" _

_Val's attention now seemed to be riveted elsewhere. "Then the two of you should be perfect together."_

_Genevieve growled in frustration. Her level-headed office manager, who managed her life to utter efficiency, was advocating she engage in a silly, no-hope for it sexual relationship. And suggesting she go as far to fall in love with him..._

_...and tell him she wanted him to tie her up? _

_"Your attorney is holding off Ficklebutte. They want to go through with the sale, even though you are unconscious in the hospital."_

_Again, this brought Genevieve up short. "George? His secretary called me before the wreck. His wife died and he's expected to be out some weeks."_

_"So I heard and I authorized the firm to send a spray to the funeral." Genevieve nodded her agreement. "As for Ficklebutte, I received word from George's office that all correspondence from Ficklebutte was to be handed over to them. Apparently, he's being a real hard-nose." She shifted gears. " How is work on your contract coming along?"_

_There were dreaming children fishing in the pond. "Not good. They want the stock, mine and what's in the retirement packages and they want me to reimburse the retirement packages for the stock." Genevieve plucked a piece of straw from the thatched roof and began to twirl it in her fingers. She didn't want to disclose the no compete notes Guy had written until she saw them herself. "There's more, but the battery on my iPad is dead." Genevieve was watching the barn, where the specter of that nosy horse was making his way out. A beautiful young woman was saddling him. She watched as the woman mounted him and rode him around the pond, up and down the paths..._

_"Is it? That shouldn't be." Val sounded distracted. "Give me a day or two and turn it on again." _

_"You can charge my iPad?" _

_"I can do most anything." She leaned over and smiled at Genevieve. "I know people."_

_Genevieve was giggling. "That's why I brought you with me." She continued to watch the woman and the horse. "I don't recall seeing that woman." They watched for a few moments longer. "She's hazier than the others."_

_"Because it isn't the woman's dream. It's the horse's dream." Val seemed to enjoy the shock on Genevieve's face. "Yes, animals dream. Normally short bursts. This-" she nodded to the horse, "is rather unusual."_

_"He probably misses the exercise. Guy has turned him out to pasture."_

_"How long has it been since you rode, Genevieve?"_

_She thought back to her sweet mare, Pattycake. She had been the color of sautéed butter, black mane and tail, and her best friend from childhood. "Not since my mare died after I moved to Atlanta."_

_"Perhaps, tomorrow, you should ride him. As you said, he probably misses the exercise."_

_"He's Lady Marian's horse. If I saddled him up, much less asked for permission, Guy would probably lose a nut." _

_"Well," Val retorted jovially, "he has two."_

_Genevieve slid down the roof a good foot, laughing so hard. Finally, she got a hold of her self._

_"Val? Why are we sitting on Locksley Manor's roof?" _

_"The better to spy on people's dreams," she responded wickedly._

_"Ah, we're voyeurs now." _

_"Yep!" She pointed across the pond. "Look."_

_A ghost-like figure of a young girl, not quite gracing womanhood wandered between the buildings. She was joined by a young man, the two of them dancing around the skeletal Maypole. _

_"Oh, that's Eleanor. Who's she dancing with?" _

_"Do you really want to know?" Genevieve nodded enthusiastically. "The young man was one she had a crush on for the last few years. He became an outlaw in Hood's gang. He is now in the Holy Land, married to the Saracen girl who was also in the gang for a time."_

_Genevieve watched now in sadness. The priest had mentioned a Saracen woman. "Oh. She's pining."_

_"It has a happy ending. She will marry the woodcarver's son, who will love her and they will be very happy for many years."_

_Quietly, they watched as more children ran through the town square, oblivious to each other._

_"This is really weird, Val." _

_"Who said life was normal?" _

_Genevieve looked hard at her friend. Val was staring over the town, into the woods, watching the trees sway gently "No, really, Val. According to you, the real me is laid up in a hospital bed... Crawford Long or Piedmont?"_

_"Grady. Superior trauma unit."_

_True that. _

_A few of the trees in the forest were now shaking harder, something large moving through the woods. _

_"So I'm there and I'm here. That's just weird. My face is okay, isn't it?"_

_Val smiled and turned slowly to her. "You vain thing. I wondered when you would ask. Broken left leg, shattered hip joint, left side, two broken ribs, five cracked ribs, punctured lung, broken left hand, cracked shoulder, cracked clavicle." _

_"But my face is okay?"_

_The smile and snicker were a welcome sight. "Your face is fine. You have a lot of pins and screws in you and you'll be walking with help for a long time. There will be a lot of physical therapy in your future."_

_"Joy. If my physical therapist-" She was interrupted by a roar, a ripping and cracking of wood._

_"GISBORNE!"_

_To Genevieve's horror and dismay, Guy materialized in front of the church, another man, in rough clothing came crashing from the woods, pulling trees up by their roots. In the blink of an eye, the pond disappeared and both men were facing off, the forest-man with bow and arrows; Guy with a broadsword. _

_They circled each other, obviously taunting the other..._

_"That is Robin Hood."_

_"I figured that." For a moment, Genevieve took her eyes off the two men, battling it out in the square and noticed her friend was starting to fade. "Why do they hate each other? Whose dream is this?"_

_"It is Guy's nightmare." Val's voice was growing faint. "It is why he drinks although it no longer helps him sleep. Those two have good reason to hate each other, for each has stolen something dear and precious from the other." Her voice became softer. "Guy's demons haunt him; every wrong he's ever committed, every sin dogs him. Things he didn't do, but blames himself for, trouble him. __He blames himself for something he did not do and it mars his entire look on his life.__He thinks only death will release him, Genevieve. You must convince him he has much to live for." With that, Val faded completely from sight._

_Genevieve refocused on the fight before her. Guy was good, but as time went on, he slowed down, became sluggish, Hood feeding off his exhaustion. Inching towards the edge of the thatched roof for a better look, Genevieve discovered the reason why Guy's movements were hampered was due to the heavy leather he was wearing, his arms weighted with chains. She could hear the clanking, rattling of them as the fight progressed. _

_At some point, Hood's weapon changed to that of what she gathered was an Arabian blade. It was a cruel, wicked sword, curved and obviously sharp. When rent through the air, the sound it made caused Genevieve's skin crawl._

_Guy ducked several times, the scimitar missing him by inches, before he lost his footing and fell to his knees. Bent over, with his neck exposed, Genevieve heard him scream clearly, 'Just end it! End my misery!'_

_With the blade held in front of him, Hood moved to the side, lining up the blade to Guy's neck._

_Guy didn't move, just knelt there... waiting._

_Realizing if she didn't do something... NOW... Genevieve would have the grizzly front row view of Guy's beheading. She jumped to her feet, and began to scream at the top of her lungs. "NO! STOP! DON'T DO IT! NOOOO!"_

_Hood looked up, fury on his features, before his entire being, sword and all, winked out and disappeared._

_'Oh God, oh God oh God...'_

_Rather than dissipate himself, Guy's face jerked up towards the roof. With a single bound, he leapt on the thatch, causing Genevieve to step up and backwards._

_"You!" His look was thunderous, black..._

_Furious..._

_Evil..._

_His broadsword was out, backing her up the roof. "Why? Why did you stop him?"_

_"'I...I... couldn't watch... I couldn't let him... I couldn't..."  
_

_"Genevieve!"_

_"I couldn't let him... I...I..."_

_Throwing his sword down, he reached out and grabbed her arms._

_"Genevieve! What were you doing?" _

_"I couldn't do nothing... I couldn't... just watch..."_

_He began to shake her violently. "Genevieve!"_

_~~~...~~~_

"Genevieve! Wake up!"

"I couldn't...Oh God... I couldn't watch him..."

"GENEVIEVE!"

By the time she opened her eyes, she was gasping for breath. The room was dark and stuffy. "I couldn't watch him, I couldn't...Guy?" The vices released her arms and the weight on the bed shifted as he rose. "NO!" She reached out and grasped empty air. "Please don't leave me!"

"I am not leaving." There was a rustle and the fire in her fireplace slowly roared to life, casting a glow about the room. Using the long taper on the mantle, Guy lit a candle lamp and returned to the bed, sinking down on the edge and after setting the candle on the night stand, pulled her towards him. He squeezed her shoulders inwards, forcing her to look up at him.

He was disheveled, bleary-eyed. He had either thrown his clothes on haphazardly, or he had been sleeping in them.

Genevieve guessed the latter.

She was still hyper-ventilating. It had been so real. "I couldn't watch. I couldn't watch. I'm sorry, but I just... couldn't..."

She was unaware when he put his arms around her, pulling her close, one huge hand encompassing the back of her head and pressing her to his shoulder, while cradling her beneath his chin. "You could not watch what?"

"I couldn't watch him kill you. I couldn't watch it." At this point, she began to cry, tears falling freely. "I couldn't just stand by and... and... let it... happen! I couldn't do nothing! I just couldn't."

All the while, until she cried herself out, Guy held her secure and rocked her like a small child, keeping his dismayed thoughts to himself.

_How in the name of God did she get into and witness my nightmare?_

_**~~~...~~~**_

_**Better rock together**_

_**~~~...~~~**_

_tbc_

_Ut purus non habes, an mulier quaedam erat in caveam gradu sis fur , Etiam potest diabolus sit amet servire Domino sed quis es - _

_You might have drugs at your command, women in a cage You may be a business man or some high degree thief Well, it may be the devil or it may be the Lord But you're gonna have to serve somebody_

_Gonna Serve Somebody - Bob Dylan. _


	9. 8 - Love is not Rude

_**Manna from Heaven**_

_**Chapter 8**_

_**Love is not rude**_

Guy sat at the table, staring morosely at the trencher.

His servants stood around as if they were at a funeral.

"Will Lady Genevieve be coming down to break her fast, my lord?" Guy looked up from the plate, to see his steward hovering anxiously over the table.

With a heavy sigh, Guy picked up his fork. "I doubt it, Thornton."

_Eggs... sausage... fresh bread... his servants didn't bother this much for him..._

"Is she unwell, Sir Guy?"

He supposed he should glare. It was only right as that is what he would normally do, but after the night he'd spent, Guy simply didn't have the heart for it. "Lady Genevieve had a difficult evening," he muttered, finally spearing his sausage. "I will check on her before I leave; otherwise, allow her to sleep." Breakfast was finished in relative silence.

She had fallen asleep just before the sun rose, alternatively crying and napping fitfully, refusing to turn him loose until she finally wore herself out. Even after he laid her down and covered her, he remained on the edge of her bed, simply watching her breathe.

_How did she get into my nightmare? Why was she in my dream?_

Question now was, should he broach the subject? Ignore and avoid it; simply not mention it? Act as if it was _her_ nightmare and not his?

_The mere thought of my imminent death bothered her; upset her. When did I matter so much to someone? My own mother wouldn't leave an injured man long enough to plead for me. Only my father's timely arrival..._

Once, almost a lifetime ago, Marian had stepped up, risking herself, and ultimately risking her father's life, to save his; threatened the life of the metal-worker from Africa, to save his. By the same swing of the sword, she ensured Hood's life as well, managed to destroy the secret of the impenetrable armor and ran off the only man in Europe who could create such a so-called splendid armor. Since the debacle in the Holy Land, Guy had come to the conclusion that Marian set out to save Robin, and his own rescue was just a lucky by-blow and excuse.

_I was just a girl... I despise Robin Hood..._

_...I love Robin Hood..._

Maybe she did. Maybe, she had. Did Marian ever even care a little bit for him, Guy of Gisborne?

_The only reason you paid me any attention was to feed information to my enemy._

_Perhaps. Perhaps not. Why did it matter anymore? _

_Why dwell on it? Why allow this demon to eat at his gut? There was no hope..._

But if there was no hope, why did he strive to survive, day after day? Why had he taken up John's banner over the sheriff's? Politics? Politics was for fools! More power? More prestige? Why bother if there was no hope?

It still left him with the sinking feeling in his gut that Genevieve had somehow invaded his nightmare, watched it from the roof of his own home and managed, through her own fear for _his_ life, to stop Hood from completing that which he sought so desperately at times.

"Good morning."

Guy was rousted from his musings, shocked to see her standing there. She looked tired, wrung out with dark circles around her eyes. It dawned on him if he looked _this_ bad in the mornings, small wonder Thornton was putting things in his morning drink. He rose and pulled her chair from the table. "I did not expect to see you."

"One can just lie in the bed for so long and watch mice fall from the thatch and into the bed curtains." She snarled as if in pain, before sinking into the chair and scooting forward. "Now I know why canopy beds were created. Little girls would not desire them so much. Thank you."

Eggs and sausage made their way in front of her and her stomach lurched at the sight. "'I'm sorry, Thornton," Genevieve spoke up lamely, "I don't think my stomach can handle anything right now." The steward reached for her goblet and poured some of Guy's drink into it. "I don't have a hang over. I just had a horrible night."

"Drink it, anyway." His eyes were full of sympathy.

She waited until the man took his place against the wall. "Really, Guy. A family of mice fell on the bed curtains above me. They ran back up into the straw, but it completely freaked me out."

Guy watched her as she swirled her drink, only to stare into the depths miserably. "I suppose 'freaked you out' means it frightened you?" He watched as she nodded her head, still considering the flecks of whatever floating in her earthen goblet. He stood up, pushing his trencher away. As he stepped away from the table, he leaned over to whisper in her ear, "Rest today. Leave your ... work... be." For a moment, his hand lingered on her shoulder, before he nodded to Thornton to join him by the door. As he buckled himself into his jacket, he whispered to the servant, "The rodents in the thatch are falling into the lady's bed curtains. See to it."

"I will bring some of the barn cats up, sir."

Genevieve listened half-interested in the whispered conversation behind her, understanding none of it; simply crisp and hissing consonants in the air. She was shocked to see Joffrey kneeling next to her. "I'm t'go with Sir Guy today. Michael the Red is stayin' wit' you. You'll be okay?" His very plain but humble face had deep worry lines etched in it.

"I'm fine," she tried to smile. "I just didn't sleep well, is all." The young man nodded once before patting her hand and standing to leave.

There was the usual noise and bustle when Guy and his men-at-arms left the village and thundered towards Nottingham.

And then for a long time - at least it felt like a long time to Genevieve - it was strangely silent in Locksley.

It made her very uneasy.

~~~...~~~

The Sheriff appeared to be in a quiet, pensive mood this day. It always seemed he was calm and lost in thought after a long rainstorm. Thinking on it, Gisborne decided if it rained for the rest of the man's days, he would happily live with it.

"GISBORNE!" Guy snapped to attention.

"Yes, my lord?"

Vaisey looked up at him over his shoulder. "You are yawning. Are you bored?"

It was out of his mouth before he thought. "I had a long night."

The smile on Vaisey's face was evilly gleeful. "Lady Genevieve! Is she sporting?" He looked away in time to miss Guy's eye roll. "I love sport! Speaking of sport, do we have anyone to hang today?"

There was the farmer, nabbed for shooting a deer in Sherwood Forest. It was his third time caught; he was missing a hand from the last time caught. He swore he was trying to feed his family...

_You want the truth? The truth is, this country is being choked to death; the truth is, honest people are being forced to lie and cheat and steal and if you really want to know the truth... _

Many times since the Holy Land, he often wondered what it is Marian was going to say after that. Before the necklace magically reappeared.

… _if you really want to know the truth..._

Guy squeezed his eyes, anything to shut Marian's voice up. Since when did she become his conscious?

_Because you squashed yours years ago, Guy. Sat on it and shat on it until it is scared to move, much less utter a sound._

"Gisborne," Vaisey's voice was cajoling, almost a lullaby. "Is the new leper wearing on your nerves already?" He stood up, the chair scraping back with a sound that set Guy's teeth on edge. "All this rain, the two of you stranded in that manse together... you're a handsome, virile, strapping man." Again, he smiled up at the dark knight. "Rumor has it, she's quite pretty, even with her hair shorn. So pretty you are keeping a watch on her when you're not there. I would like to think," and with this the man poked Guy in the shoulder, making him snarl, "the two of you were rocking your bed through - out the rainstorm. But you were not, were you?" His smile fell into a knowing smirk. "Losing your touch, Gisborne?" He snapped his fingers. "Perhaps, we can find the servant girl who had your baby! What was her name?"

_Annie. Her name was Annie and she had lips that tasted of honey..._

"I do not remember, my lord."

"You don't?" The man actually tsked. "I remember all four women who claimed I impregnated them." He waved his hand in the air. "Wanted to make sure the gravestones were spelled correctly." This admission actually caused Guy's gut to clench.

_'Guy, how shocking!' _Marian's voice was almost jovial. '_Your stomach rolled! There is human still left within you!'_

Vaisey continued on, unhearing Guy's inner torment. "We should find her. You obviously liked her enough, if you cannot manage to get little Lady Lost-My-Memory to acquiesce. That is, unless," he turned on Guy, a finger in the air, "you've lost your taste for women, completely? If that's the case, we can find you a-"

"My lord, if you please, I would like to go to the training yard and put the off-duty guards through their paces." Guy knew where this conversation was heading and the last thing he wanted was to listen to Vaisey list his perversions. "I am certain the rain has left them lazy and slow."

_'What are your perversions, Guy? You have them, you know you do. Those fantasies of yours.'_

Without waiting to hear a response, Guy chugged up the steps, making as much noise as possible, his spurs ringing against the wood. He slammed the door, harder than necessary, leaving Vaisey snickering in the gloom.

"Oh, we hit a nerve, didn't we, Gizzy?" The sheriff was whispering and nodding to himself, watching the door that Gisborne just stormed out of. "I think your new little leper friend is all under your skin and you are still too chivalrous to act on your desires. Which is why," the man reached into a bowl and pulled up an over-ripe apple, "you will never amount to much of anything without me."

He bit into the skin, breaking his fake tooth.

Guy headed quickly down the hall, his fury mounting. Lost his taste in women... not hardly. In recent weeks, his fantasy lover had non-descript features... sometimes a brunette, sometimes blonde. No facial features. He preferred them bound, tied in silk, stretched... he didn't desire their touch, they weren't Her, couldn't compare... they didn't smell like Her, sound like Her, look like Her...

_'But Guy, you killed me. Remember? And I didn't want you..._

He came around the corner and almost ran into Joffrey, patrolling guard duty in the middle of nowhere. "Go down to the barracks, gather the guards and take them to the training field to spar!" Guy's growl was harsh, guttural. "And find out which one of my men is whispering in the sheriff's ear!"

Joffrey was off like a shot arrow down the hallway.

Guy looked around, getting his bearings. He had roamed, furiously, aimless, once out of the main hall. Discerning where he was, he turned to the left and within a few minutes, stood outside the door to his personal rooms here at the castle. He opened the door to a stale environment that had not been cleaned in who knows how long. The bed was unmade, the linens and pillows still in a wad from the last time he spent the night here, how many weeks... months... ago? He turned and bolted the door, loosed and removed his buckler and sword. He set them gently on the bed before unbuckling his mailed jerkin - dear God, it was heavy - and dropping it in the floor where he stood, he climbed into the bed and fell asleep.

~~~...~~~

After forcing down a few bites of congealed eggs, Genevieve retreated to her room and attempted to lie down, nap, anything. Every time she started to nod off, her body jerked, her mind relieving that horrible scene of Guy kneeling with his neck exposed, begging Hood to end it. She got up and began to pace. She couldn't pinpoint what upset her the most; the fact that Guy was so ready for death or the initial look of fury on his face when she halted the 'execution'.

_Her grandmother used to tell her if a person died in their dreams, they died in real life. If Guy had died, what would have happened to her?_

_Oh, THAT'S a selfish thought!_

Yes, selfish and self-centered, but natural. What would happen to her if something befell her benefactor? Would she be allowed to stay here? Would someone new be assigned as the Lord of Locksley? If that happened, would he be as...

Well, Guy wasn't kind, puh-leeze! But she knew who and what he was. Best to know the adversary you have than break in a new adversary. In boredom and habit, she pulled her iPad from her gym bag and pressed the power switch. It flickered, but promptly died.

At least it flickered.

_Val is working on it. She said give it a day or two._

She dropped it back into her gym bag and wandered over to the window, pulling back the shutters. The sun was out, the air was nippy, but it was bright, cloudless...

There was absolutely nothing to do!

_This is awful! What did women in this time do in their leisure time?_

Well, for one thing, the peasants worked. They had no leisure time. Their lives must be drudgery! Whether it be in the home or at the manse or in the castle... she watched as Eleanor walked from the barn, carrying a basket of eggs. If Genevieve's teenaged romances were correct, high-born ladies were expected to sew and sing and paint. Sit in a solar and gossip about knights and their troubadours and their dresses!

What a wretched existence! The printing press still had 250 years before it was invented! That meant the only book in town was probably the Holy Writ at the small church and chances were good, it was in Latin. Genevieve continued to stare out into the empty pasture.

The empty pasture...

Dear God, the horses hadn't been let out. That meant that beautiful, nosy, dreaming stallion, who so badly needed exercise, was still in his stall in the barn. With a gleeful yip, Genevieve bounced to her bed, grabbing her tennis shoes and socks.

_I need air, I need air, I need air..._

She tore to the door and feeling as giddy as a teenager, she jumped on the banister and slid approximately six inches when she realized the wood was rough and if she continued on her journey, she would have a butt full of splinters. By now, Thornton, Eleanor and she supposed Michael the Red were watching her in horror as she leapt from the third step and dashed out the door.

It dawned on Michael that he was supposed to be watching her, so he ran out behind her. Being a much larger man and having a wider girth, by the time he caught up with her in the barn, Genevieve had a saddle blanket tossed over the stallion's back and was hauling down a saddle from the saddle rack.

"Lady Genevieve, I'm thinkin' you shouldn't do that." He tried to take her arm. "Come back to the manse, please."

"And do what?" she retorted, pulling her arm from his gentle grasp. She was hoping this man was a teddy bear. If not, she was in huge trouble.

Well, she would be in trouble if Guy caught her out on his fiancé's horse.

"I... whatever it is ladies do."

"Would you mind enlightening me exactly what it is ladies do? I don't quite remember."

"Don't make me carry you back." It was a gently put request. No bite to it at all.

"Michael, do you like horses?"

His eyes darted back and forth. "Yes."

"Do you love them?"

He was too flabbergasted to answer.

Genevieve put a gentle hand on his arm. "I love horses. Really. Grew up with them. My last horse died a few years ago and I've not had the heart to purchase another one. Her name was Pattycake and she was the sweetest mare. I miss her. This stallion," she nodded over to the horse she was saddling, "is pining for exercise, for excitement. He's been either left in a stall or put to pasture. That's not good for him."

The man stood there, in deep thought. What she was saying was true, but...

"Is Sir Guy the type to maltreat his horses?"

"NO!" This brought the quiet, reticent archer out of his silence. "Sir Guy has the kindest, gentlest hand with his beasts! It's just this one-" he stopped short, almost in shock at what he almost uttered.

"This one belonged to her," Genevieve finished for him. "He belonged to the woman Sir Guy loved, didn't he?" Michael's silence answered the question. "What would she think, that her beloved horse was left languishing in a stall because no one had the heart to ride him?" By now, Genevieve had her arm around the stallion's neck, her other hand stroking the velvet nose. "I think she would be heart-broken. I think this big fella misses her very much and would love to go out for a good run. What about it, big guy? Wanna go for a ride? Get some real air?" As if understanding, the stallion nickered once, ruffling Genevieve's hair. She returned her attention to the guardsman. "If you wish to stop me, you'll have to tie me up. I'd love to be around when you explain that to Sir Guy. Or you can saddle up and go with us. Sir Guy won't be back until dinner and we'll be back by then. What do you say?"

Michael was seriously contemplating her words.

It dawned on Genevieve that perhaps she had said too much about her past. "I loved horses; I remember that much! Maybe a good ride will help me remember where I'm from."

A few minutes later, Michael and Genevieve led their steeds into the main thoroughfare and took off down the road at a canter.

~~~...~~~

Guy woke from his nap with a headache. It happened every time he took a mid-day nap, but the truth was, it was the only real sleep he got anymore. It was if his demons and tormentors saved their hellish torture for the night time hours and allowed his skull free rein in the day. It was truly a no-win situation.

With no one to hang, no one to tax to death and nothing to do, Guy decided staying in Nottingham was a waste of his time. He could go home and be just as bored, without the Sheriff pestering him about Genevieve or Marian. From the sounds of it, his men were half-heartedly going through their paces in the bailey.

Usually, it wasn't that much.

With the room still smelling stale, he threw the window open, allowing in the fresh air. It was cool, the promise of near frost in the air that evening. As Guy retrieved his heavy jacket from the floor where he slung it, it dawned on him Genevieve had less to cover her as the temperature dropped.

Yet again, he found himself in Marian's rooms. He had been through the trunk; he knew what he searched for was not in it. Going to the small alcove around the fireplace, he found a clothing rack with the cloak neatly hung on one of the bars. It was the color of heavy cream, the fur collar weighting it. As he pulled it from the rack, he noticed with satisfaction that the large broach Marian used to keep it closed at her throat was attached.

_Will you give her my jewelry as well?_ Marian's voice hissed through the cracks in the walls. _What about my bed? Will you give her it? Will you take her in it like-_

Guy growled in frustration. These... demons... took on different voices at different times, taunting him, torturing, eating at his very soul.

_Didn't love me very much, did you? Replacing me so soon... _

"Shut it!" Gisborne hissed between his teeth. "Just. Shut. It!"

_And here I thought you loved me..._

**"I SAID SHUT! IT!" ** The knight's angered voice echoed through the room, ringing up into the rafters. He realized his hands were about his ears, the heels of his palms pressing into the rims. He had dropped the cloak; the heavy wool, pooled at his feet. "Just shut it. Please."

_Poooooor Guy._

It dawned on him to beg, to plead... _I am sorry, so sorry. What can I do to atone, to bring you back... _"Tell me how. How do I undo this?"

_Diiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeee..._

Somewhere, a small kernel of his soul balked at the thought. For the first time, he fought back against the demon with Marian's voice.

"No. I will not appease you thus."

He bent down, grabbing the cloak from the floor. Slinging it over his arm, he stormed to the door, striding into the hallway and ignoring the guards and few serving girls who obviously heard his vented fury.

His demons were no longer content to persecute him in the deep watches of the night. But perhaps, it wasn't a demon hounding him here. Perhaps, it was simply Marian's ghost...

_~~~...~~~_

For the first time since she arrived, Genevieve left the hamlet proper. She and Michael entered the forest, into cooler, cleaner air. No chamber pot stench, no outdoors sewer stink. No old cooking smells, no enclosed air, no people sweat... well there was Michael, but he was downwind where she couldn't really smell him. This time, this culture had no idea what daily scented soap or antiperspirant was.

Genevieve laughed, her voice echoing through the trees. For the first time in months, she felt free, energized, and rejuvenated. She looked over to her nervous guard. "Michael! Catch me!"

And she put her heels to the stallion, taking off.

~~~...~~~

Guy was close to the portcullis when he heard his name. He recognized the voice and turned sullenly. The clothier, Isandra, was walking briskly, her face red with exertion to catch up to him. "Sir Guy." She thrust a package at him. "Here."

He looked down at the rather small brown parcel, bound with a thin, hemp tie-rope. "This is it, woman?" He lifted it with one hand, balanced on two fingers and a thumb. "There should be more here for two or three-"

"In her case, cherie," the woman interrupted snidely, "nine." Guy's jaw dropped. "She is a savvy customer, to create nine dresses for price of three!" She elbowed him in the arm. "You should marry her, she would take better care of the house and people." Isandra then pointed at the package. "One tunic is finished. By itself, it should suit her, considering how she is dressed now. The rest will be finished tomorrow or Saturday, as promised." She turned to leave, but retorted over her shoulder. "She might not be _your_ mademoiselle, but she should be. Dress her as if she is." With that last retort that several people over heard, the woman disappeared into the crowd.

Guy watched as the dressmaker vanished, blended in with the rest of the merchants and stall-goers, before inspecting the package again. An under dress? Part of an outfit that if what she hinted at could be considered enough for one outfit...

Three tunics and three kirtles would make nine different outfits...

Guy looked down at his boots and smirked. Either he had been had or Genevieve was yes - a very smart female.

~~~...~~~

Michael eventually caught up with her, but only because Genevieve slowed enough to allow it. With a grin, she took off again, the guard following close on her heels. She hunkered down tight to the stallion's neck, reveling in the wind in her face, the bunch of the equine's muscles beneath her legs.

Suddenly, an arrow shot from the trees, embedding itself in another tree across the path. A narrow, almost invisible rope was stretched taut across the road. Genevieve flew beneath it, not noticing it was there, but it caught Michael across the chest, casting him to the ground. His horse, now unencumbered by the man's weight, flew like the wind, catching up with Genevieve. She came to a halt when she realized her guard had become unhorsed. Clicking her tongue, she snatched the destrier's trailing reins and turned around. "Michael?" Nothing. She raised her voice. "MICHAEL! Are you alright?"

"RUN!" There was a thwack and then the thud of a body falling.

Now, she was afraid. Genevieve started to turn, continue running down the dirt road, but she had no idea where it led to. What if there were more brigands further down? Looking around, she realized the woods to her right was a thicket, heavily bushed and would give decent cover. She slid from her horse's back and taking both leads, tip-toed into the brush.

~~~...~~~

"Who is the fine lady, Michael?"

The guard glared up at Hood and spat at him. Little John thumped him on the back with his staff. Not hard, but enough to get his attention.

Robin squatted in front of the much larger man. "Come on, Michael. We trained together, years ago. Tell me who-" A twig snapped. It got very quiet as everyone listened. Michael opened his mouth to yell again, but he was thumped again, knocking him out. Hood pointed to Kate and wordlessly sent her around to the left to investigate. It was very quiet...

There was a thud, leaves disturbed and then...

A slap of flesh meeting flesh, screeching, yelling...

"BITCH!"

_*slap*_

"Get yer 'ands outta m'hair."

_*slap*_

"Oh, y'dirty witch-"

"Oooh," Allan perked up. "Cat-fight." He turned to Much. ""Are yew a bettin' man?"

"What?" The sounds in the thicket intensified as the two women went at it.

"Half a crown on Ka-" There was a sound of a fist meeting a body part. Kate howled. "Giz's lady."

Tuck rolled his eyes and headed into the thicket. There were screams, hollers, a few 'turn me loose,' 'get off', and one 'unhand me!' from both women, before the large friar burst from the bushes, a struggling woman in each hand. He handed Kate to Much. "Hold her." Without being told twice, Much put both hands around the woman, holding her tight. She had a welt on her cheekbone that would most likely bruise by the evening.

Genevieve was still struggling, using her free hand to slap at the man holding her. "Allan, go get their horses." He shoved Genevieve down in the dirt, next to Michael, who was just coming around. "Please stay put," the man admonished her. "We'll not harm you."

"Easy for you t' say!" Kate was struggling, putting Much through his paces. "I'm gonna kick 'er-"

"Kate," Robin's voice was soft and he waved her down. "You attacked her and she fought back." He squatted in front of Genevieve. "Hello there. You're Gisborne's lady."

"I'm his guest!" she spat.

"Lady Genevieve!" Michael was sitting up, rubbing his head. "Don't tell 'im anythin'!"

"Ah. Lady Genevieve." The woman was staring mutinously at the man. Trying to school her features, she was shocked, terrified.

This was the man who tried to kill Guy in his nightmare.

She already hated him.

Hood seemed unaware that the woman in front of him was in the process of hyper-ventilating. "You're not from here, anywhere near here, judging your accent, which is delightful, by the way." Robin gave her his winningest smile, which didn't go far with this particular lady. "One has to wonder why Gisborne has a lady guest?"

"Can't imagine why anyone would wanna stay wit' the git!"

Genevieve glared at the woman Much was still holding back. "He might be a git to you, but he..." she swallowed hard, noticing the entire gang was staring at her expectantly. "he's been very kind to me."

"Kind?" Hood was incredulous. "Gisborne?"

"Yeah!" Genevieve was furious. "He found me in the road, unconscious! Everything was stolen except the clothes I had on!"

"Those clothes?" Damn, if the man wasn't eyeing her with appreciation. "I didn't think Gisborne understood the word 'chivalry.'"

"And you don't understand the word 'gentleman.'"

There were several 'ooohs' from members of his gang. Robin's smile never wavered. "You're fast. Probably keeps Gisborne spinning like a top."

"No' tha' tha's difficult!" The large man with the staff was behind Michael, ready to hit him again, if necessary. The man had flies buzzing around him and the smell of him caused Genevieve's nose to curl.

Allan came around the thicket, from where Tuck had exited with the two women. He had both leads in his hands. "Wot now? Thought I recognized 'er horse."

Robin let out a low whistle. "So Gisborne kept this one." He turned back to Genevieve. "You know you're riding a stolen horse."

"Sir Guy bought him! Ain't stolen at all!" Michael took another thump to the back.

Genevieve stared a hole through Robin. "The horse was pining for exercise. According to servants, he has either been left in a stall or put to pasture. So I took him for a ride. Now, if you'll allow me and my escort up-"

"Not so fast." Hood now stood up. "You say Gisborne found you in the road? Here in the forest?"

"Yes."

Hood looked at his men. "Have any of you been accosting women and stealing their clothes?" They shook their heads no.

Genevieve was in a right fury. "Why don't you check your girlfriend! Looks as if she could use a decent thing or two."

This started Kate's struggles anew. "You... you... shrew!"

"I prefer the term 'bitch.' And I'm 24 karat gold at it, too."

Much now had his work cut out for him.

"Tell you what," Robin murmured softly. "I'll let you go-"

"Good!"

"-when you hand me that pretty silver necklace." Genevieve's jaw dropped. "I AM Robin Hood and it will feed a few people."

"NO!" She looked at the friar, the man holding that ... kitchen rat.. "Please! No! It's all I have!"

"If you're with Gisborne, you're eating well. Others aren't. Hand it over."

Reluctantly, Genevieve reached behind her neck and undid the clasp. But rather than take it off and hand it to him, she dropped it down in her bra and between her breasts. "No," she spat brazenly.

Abruptly, a sweaty hand reached around her and down into her tunic. With a scream, Genevieve bent over, taking her assailant to the ground with her, but Allan still jumped up with her necklace in his hand. "Got it!" He handed it to Robin, not registering the looks of shock from the rest of the men.

Only Much realized that Gisborne's lady was crying. Real tears and not from the fact Allan had shoved his hand down inside her tunic. This was more than a piece of jewelry to her. It was something deeply precious. "Robin... I don't think..."

Before he could finish, Tuck took the piece from Hood, inspecting the crucifix spinning in the air. "Where did you get this, child?" His hand finally grasped the cross, examining it closely.

"My grandmother." She was sobbing and Robin finally realized how distraught she was. "My grandmother gave it to me. It belonged to her mother. Please don't take it."

For a moment, it was silent in the woods, save for Genevieve's sobbing. Finally...

"We do not take religious pieces from people, Robin."

"Not normally, but-"

"No." Tuck was firm. "We do not rob pilgrims or nuns or priests or women who have nothing but the kindness of strangers and religious pieces. Especially if they've already been robbed of everything else." He stepped over to Genevieve and dangled the cross in front of her. She snatched it and put it back in her tunic. "And we especially," he was now glaring at Allan, "do not go fishing in women's undergarments, while they are wearing them, to take such items!"

"Wot?" Allan was completely innocent. "All I did was helpin' to divest 'er of..."

"It's not gentlemanly."

"No, it's not!" Much spoke up, still clutching Kate. "I am... repulsed you would stoop so low as to... well... put your hand... and...and... well... accost her!"

Allan had his hands up. "I'm no' a genl'man an' I'm no' sorry!"

Little John thumped him in the back of the head. "No. Yer a total idiot is what you are!"

Tuck held his hand out to Genevieve to help her up. "We did not rob you, my lady. And if Gisborne is being kind to you, then, that's a rarity and one you should be grateful for."

"Watch yourself with Gisborne," Robin added. "You are living with a murderous demon." Michael was now standing as well. "Mount up, both of you and run. Don't look back."

Genevieve was mounted faster than the guard and the two of them turned and put their heels to their steeds.

"She knows horse," Tuck watched her mount with no help.

"She does ride well." Hood watched as well, "as if she were born to it. Come on. Let's get out of here. If there are thieves besides us in the woods, I want to find them and move them along. And if Gisborne is close by, he'll be on our tails quickly and rumor has it, he doesn't let her far from his sight."

As quickly as they appeared, Hood's gang disappeared and blended into the forest. As they made their way back to camp, Tuck thought hard on Genevieve's version of her arrival. For someone who didn't 'remember' where she came from or who she was, she certainly knew a lot about that crucifix and who gave it to her. The woman had been beyond distraught at the thought of losing it. She also understood horses and while her manner of speech was most unusual and nothing Tuck had ever come across in his travels, she appeared to be intelligent, and she most certainly was not embarrassed by her strange clothing.

Robin had questioned some of the villagers, including Thornton, who liked her. But Thornton was kind and liked pretty much everyone. Everyone except the Sheriff, but the steward, on occasion, was known to defend Sir Guy, something Tuck strangely understood. The story was the same: Sir Guy returned from Mass in Nottingham the previous Sunday, with the woman unconscious in his lap. She was kind, educated, and stood up for children.

And vain. She bathed daily and her reaction to Little John proved she disliked or was unused to the smell around her.

And after this afternoon, Tuck decided she would fight for what was hers. It was said she argued with Sir Guy, on occasion, that at times, he started the argument, goaded her to see what her reaction would be. She was feisty, not afraid to back down and Sir Guy seemed to revel in it.

Which made Lady Genevieve quite the enigma.

And very much in danger of the sheriff. Wouldn't it be interesting, the man thought to himself, if the reason Sir Guy kept her so close and so well guarded, was to keep her safe from the sheriff? And for what reason would he want to keep her safe?

~~~...~~~

Gisborne and his men took the long way home, going through several of the towns under his mantle. In his quest to regain the lands stolen from him by Hood as a powerless teenager, he had regained his as well as Hood's, making the revenge that much sweeter.

At least, it _had_ been sweeter, up until he killed Marian.

Again, he squashed the memory. It was Vaisey's fault. Had he not dragged her to the Holy Land... she had been chained to the bed! Hood and his gang had been staked out in the desert by King Richard, of all people. How on earth had she gotten free, gotten Hood free...

_How on earth had it come to this?_

For the first time in ages, he went through the little hamlet that had been the seat of Gisborne. The burnt ruins of his home had long been cleared away, weeds and trees now marking the spot of the home. He didn't see anyone he recognized, the place holding fewer than half of who lived there before. The small number of those were out were lean, underfed and looked at him with malice. The children, what few there were, were listless; there was no play, no banter...

No joy.

As they left, he saw the hedgerow and for the first time in years, a happy memory assailed him. The hedgerow in the summer, would be covered in honeysuckle and as a child, he would hide from his mother (who he suspected knew where he was all along) and eat the honeysuckle until he was sick to his stomach. She always chided him and still, he licked the 'honey' from the stem with a child-like glee.

"Sir Guy?"

Gisborne was jolted from his reverie, Joffrey looking at him with much...

_that better not be pity..._

...worry. "Are you a-right?"

"I am fine," he hissed. He nudged his horse forward. "Why do you ask?"

"Sir, you stopped. It were like you went away in your head."

The line of soldiers moved, leaving the village behind, with its sullen children and gloomy atmosphere. As they put trees between them and the town, Guy finally responded. "Just a childhood memory, 'tis all."

But it was more. A part of him felt responsible; these _were_ his people, his father and mother taught him to stand up for them, to care for them because they looked up to the lord of the manor to protect them, to make sure they had enough.

But these people threw him and his out, forced him away and gave what was his to Hood. They did not deserve his protection, they did not deserve his anything. Guy had been stewing in his anger for over twenty years and he did not see a reason to change his mind. Of all the small towns under his control, this one deserved the least of his care or worry.

And that was that.

Yet for some strange reason, he felt... guilty in his resentment, guilty in his hardheartedness. For the first time in years, he feared he was a disappointment to his mother, but mostly, his father. His father had been a hero... his hero, Guy looked up to him. Thomas Gisborne had been a commoner, received his knighthood through service and bravery and was rewarded for...

The Black Knight was jolted out of his musings and brought back to the present by the sound of thundering hoof beats. Signaling his men, they fell into formation and drew their weapons, waiting for the riders to emerge from the corner. He listened carefully and held up two fingers, signifying two riders.

They waited as the galloping horses drew nearer.

Needless to say, Guy and his arms men were shocked when Genevieve, riding Lady Marian's horse and Michael the Red tore around the corner, as if being chased by the very devil himself.

_**~~~...~~~**_

_**Never gonna say it first...**_

_**~~~...~~~**_

_**A/N - Yes, it is early, I know. do NOT get used to it! LOL! For those who haven't heard, my brand new laptop's motherboard fried and while it's under warranty, it will be 2 weeks before I will get it back. I didn't lose anything - thank God - everything is on external harddrives - but I am unable to edit and access the internet on my old laptop (hence why I got a new laptop) Sorry. Don't know when the next update will be... I DO have up to chapter 10 back and beta'd and half of chapter 11 written. **_


	10. 09 It does not

_**Manna from Heaven**_

_**Chapter 09**_

_**It does not...**_

The sound of thunder was overwhelming as the two riders rounded the curve in the woods. Sir Guy and his men stood ready, broadswords out.

The rider in front was familiar - Genevieve was lying over on her mount's neck-

'_Zeus! She's riding Marian's Zeus!'_

_-_followed closely by Michael the Red. It became immediately apparent this was no race, no fun ride. They both were looking behind them, seeing if-

"WHOA!" The moment he saw Genevieve, he pulled off one of his gloves. Guy then put his thumb and forefinger to the inner edges of his mouth and let out a shrill whistle.

Hearing a familiar voice, the horse began to slow, looking for his master. Michael also slowed, pulling up in front of Sir Guy.

"When I told you to keep an eye on her," Gisborne spat tersely, "I did not state you were to take her on a tour of Nottingham!"

"Sir," the guard started out with a rush, "you may berate me all y'like later." He pointed over his shoulder. "We've been accosted by Robin Hood-"

At that point, Guy's blood turned to ice. He turned to Genevieve, who had pulled up beside him. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she had a hunted look about her. Pulling his horse around, he yelled loudly, "Follow me. Joffrey, stay here with Lady Genevieve. Do not leave." Remembering what all he was holding onto, he tossed the package at Genevieve, and slung the cloak at Joffrey. "Hold this." With a curt nod of his head, he took off back from where the two had just come from, the guards following in pursuit.

The two that were left behind watched as the soldiers took off down the road, stirring up dust before disappearing.

The two sat for a time, Genevieve's heartbeat beginning to return to a normal rhythm. The temperature was dropping and as a result, she began to shiver.

Joffrey handed her the heavy cloak. "I think this 'un would be for you."

It took her a few minutes to figure out one side from the other and she had to dismount so Joffrey could help her with the unfamiliar clasp, but she finally got it on. She spread it to admire it. "Oh, this is pretty." Her smile fell. "I'll bet it's one of hers, isn't it?"

Joffrey saw the change in Genevieve's disposition. "Lady Genevieve," he began gently, "I knew Lady Marian - not well, but well enough. She would be grateful that her clothes are bein' used by someone who needs 'em an' that y'cared enough about 'er horse to make sure 'e got proper exercise. Besides," he added quietly, "it would take a long time to make a really nice cloak like that an' I think Sir Guy wanted to make sure you didn't go without. Did... did Hood hurt you? Rob you?"

Before Genevieve could answer, the sound of returning riders could be heard in the distance. Very quickly, the two remounted, Genevieve making sure she had a tight grasp on the package Guy had given her to hold. Before long, Guy and his entourage returned, circling the two, Guy's men corralling her securely between the Black Knight and Joffrey. Genevieve discovered herself being pulled closer to the knight as he reached and grabbed the slack reins. Although she could feel, sense his fury, for some odd reason, this act made her feel safer, protected. "Gone. I knew he would be." He sniffed the air. "It seems as if he has a underground hidey hole to slink into; I would not put it past him. Coward!" As he drew Genevieve nearer, she fought the desire to ask him to pull her in his arms, to shelter her. "Are you hurt?"

"Just my pride."

"Did he steal or attempt to steal anything from you?"

She swallowed and her bottom lip began to tremble. "Only my cross. I dropped it down in my... tunic and some... odious creature stuck his hand down the front and took it."

Guy's countenance turned dark. "Do you know who?" He poised this question to Genevieve's guard.

"Allan-a-Dale."

Guy nodded. "And most likely proud of it." Again, he looked at Genevieve. "He did not..." his voice trailed of softly.

"No," her ire was evident. "He didn't grab anything, but my necklace!"

He sighed in relief. "I am sorry, Genevieve. We probably will not be able to get it back."

"They have a priest with them. He made him give it back."

"Tuck," Guy murmured under his breath. "So you have it still?" Genevieve nodded. "Good." He then turned his full fury on Genevieve's guard. "Where was your brain, taking her into the forest with only yourself to watch over her?"

"Sir, I-"

"Don't blame him, Guy." Genevieve tried to intervene. "I pretty much left him in the dust and by the time he caught up to me, I had this beauty saddled."

"And _who_ gave you permission to ride him?" Guy's eyes had turned a deep gray, wrath raging like a firestorm. Fear for her safety was now gone, as she was out of harm's way, so rage replaced his alarm at what he considered her disobedience "Did you have any idea what were you doing, if you can ride at all? You could have injured him, injured yourself!"

For the first time since her arrival, despite the spats and yelling between them, Genevieve felt dressed down, backed down and it was not a place she liked to be in. She and Guy had exchanged heated words since her appearance, but never anything like this. She opened her mouth to retort, but then shut it again, because her own temper was rising and she had no idea what would fall out of her mouth. "If we could discuss this in private," she hissed between clenched teeth, "I would be more than happy to tell you what I was doing, prove I was doing it right and that I would not have injured him, much less myself!"

"I am not a man who listens to excuses!"

"And I am not a woman to give them!" Genevieve retorted hotly. She sat up as tall as she could. "You asked me to prove what I know and can do! That isn't an excuse! Besides, I was not aware I was a prisoner!"

Neither one was conscious of the guards, eyeing each other nervously beneath their helms. "If you knew how the Sheriff treats his prisoners, you would not be so glib."

"Well, let's just say I'm pretty sure I know how to ride, okay?" The two glared at each other, Genevieve's breathing labored and angry, Guy's taut spine, his entire body as stiff as a too-tightly strung bow. "Can we please discuss this in private? At the very least, do not castigate your man as he did everything in his power to keep me safe."

"Very well." The quiet rejoinder was forced between tight lips and clenched teeth. "However when it comes to my men, you do not dictate terms to me." He jerked his head at the arms men. "Go to Locksley. Joffrey, tell Thornton we will be there when we get there and to hold dinner."

The two waited while the soldiers regrouped into formation and followed Joffrey down the road at a solid clip. Soon, too soon, the group rounded the curve and the sound and the dust of their horses disappeared and died off in the air.

"I am waiting." Guy had turned around, pulled up next to Genevieve so that his knee was against hers. He held her horse's bridle in a tight fist.

"Waiting for what?" She started to hand the package back to him, but he shook his head and shoved it back to her lap.

He leaned over so his face was very close to hers. "Your excuse as to why you saddled a horse that does not belong to you, that you did not have permission to ride and that you did not have permission to take out." His breath was very hot on her face. "I recall I told you not to leave sight of the manse!"

_Oh yeah, that's right... ooops._

Genevieve was immediately contrite. As domineering as the man was, he _was_ looking out for her best interests. After her encounter with Hood and his gang, that much was obvious and Guy's anger was justified. It entered her mind to tell him she didn't think he'd be back for a few more hours, but that would constitute as whining and offering excuses and as he said, he didn't listen to excuses, so she decided to go on attack.

"I am sorry. After the run in with Hood, I understand your concern and admit you were right." Guy swelled up, his smirk and ego very obvious. "However, this horse is pining!"

"He is wot?"

Genevieve stiffened her shoulders and reared up as tall as she could, which quite frankly, was not impressive. It registered in Guy's mind that this did not bode well and he was in for an argument. "He is pining! He's languishing! He misses his mistress, his rider, and leaving him out to pasture is cruel! He needs exercise! He needs to be ridden!"

An unbidden crass thought went through Guy's mind when she said that. But she didn't take much of a breath as she continued her rant.

"I needed air! I know horses, Guy! I'm from Kentucky! I've owned them! I know how to ride! I've broken my fair share of head-strong colts!"

"Really?" He pulled her closer, something Genevieve didn't think was possible. It crossed his mind to ask her how well _she _had been broken. "I thought you were from..." he began to snap his fingers as if to force himself to remember, "... Alanna Jawjah?" He thrust his chin forward. "Hmm?"

Genevieve rolled her eyes. _Men! They haven't evolved much in 900 years!_ She raked her brain. "Georgia, Kentucky, Tennessee, the Carolinas, much like..." she snapped her fingers back at him, "Nottingham, Sussex, Kent, Essex-"

"Ah. Shires." He backed off a hair. "I understand." He started to turn on her again, ask her what she knew of Marian, but deep down, that was a part of him he wanted to stay hidden, buried, forgotten. He pulled away from her and with a nod of his head, the two began a slow walk in the direction back towards Gisborne.

"I see you decided the cloak was for you."

Genevieve was learning not to be shocked by the man's mood swings. "It's very pretty and warm. Thank you." She said nothing, but she knew who the cloak had belonged to.

"There will be frost tonight, so I thought you might be cold if you wished to venture out."

"And yet, you're yelling at me for venturing out, and with a guard, no less." Her sassy attitude made Guy grin. They continued on for some minutes in silence, Guy watching covertly as Genevieve took in her surroundings, the fall beauty of the forest, the very fresh air. "I enjoy riding, Guy. I've missed it in my day-to-day life. I hope you will not berate Michael to harshly. He threatened to tie me up!"

The words fell out of his mouth before he thought. "I would have enjoyed seeing that."

Genevieve's response was not what he expected. She laughed. "I bet you would!"

In a rare fit of good humor, he blurted, "I have a suspicion you enjoy that sort of thing!"

Genevieve pulled up beside him, a cheeky grin on her face. "Truth be told, no one has had the boldness to do so!" With that remark, leaving him, quite frankly, stunned, she put her heels to the stallion and took off, leaving Gisborne in the dust.

He shook his head with his customary half-smirk, before he put his own spurs to his stallion and followed her. It was an interesting race, one he did not catch up to her until just before they both re-entered his old village.

"Genevieve!" Guy's call caused Genevieve to pull up and back. Guy was looking around trying to get his bearings. Finally finding what he was looking for, he jerked his head, taking his steed off the road and into the woods. "Follow me. I wish to show you something." Genevieve had no choice but to do so. For some minutes, she followed as the man picked his way through shrubs and bush, backing up several times.

"Where are we going?" The further they traveled away from the road, the more alarmed she became.

"I thought you trusted me," he retorted.

""I do, I'm just... well... curious is all." She clicked behind her teeth, trying to keep up and trying not to be disturbed.

"Somewhere I have not been in over twenty years," he murmured, backing up yet again. "I pray it has not changed." Again, with a nod of his head, he bid her to follow him. "Ah. Here it is!" The two burst into a small clearing.

The place was hidden, almost a secluded, wooded valley. The pond, over to the side, was clear, reflecting the red and gold in the trees. Genevieve could only imagine how beautiful it was in the spring. The only sound was the wide waterfall from the creek that fed the pond, a lower stream extending out into the woods. Low bushes hung over the edges and there were several large rocks and a fallen log on the banks, large enough to sit on and dangle one's feet in the water.

Guy dismounted, leading his horse to the edge of the pond. "Strange," he said, looking around in awe, "I loved this place. I had forgotten about it, as I have not thought of it in many years."

"Do you make it a habit to squash happy memories?"

Guy almost jumped out of his skin, she stood so close. Genevieve had tied the reins to the stallion she was riding and he, too, was drinking from the pond. As it was, she stood next to him, looking up with the most innocent of eyes, with her hands clasped behind her back "It hurts to remember them."

Genevieve's smile was not joyous in the least. "My happy memories sustained me through horrid times," she admitted. "I can't imagine trying to forget them. They give me hope." She again handed the brown package to him. "This is yours."

Guy made no move to take it from her. "Actually, it is yours. Isandra says it is one of the tunics from the nine," he wagged his finger under her nose, "you managed to procure."

Genevieve shook her head, her lips pursed. "Three long tunics, three kirtles equals three outfits." She then smiled mischievously. "Unless you mix and match!" With that, she winked.

Guy moved away, the nearness of her caused him to fidget. He propped a boot on top of one of the rocks, testing its solidity. "Isandra decided that as you were so outrageously clothed, you should go ahead and have something that would be a bit less scandalous." He nodded over to a thick copse of bushes. "Why don't you try it on? The bushes will hide you."

With a smirk, Genevieve tucked the package under her arm and headed over in the direction of the tall thicket he pointed out. "Been a while since you've been here, hasn't it?"

"Over twenty years."

She returned to her original spot. "It's over grown, hon." The endearment caught him off guard. "Anywhere else?"

Lifting his foot from the rock, he stood up. "Since you mention it," he started slowly, "there is small cavern behind the waterfall."

Genevieve's eyebrows rose in appreciation. "Really?"

"Really," Guy nodded. "If you go to the right of the fall, you should see a narrow path leading to it. It is really quite well hidden."

"And I'll fit and not fall in?"

Guy shrugged elegantly, Genevieve noticed with jealous disdain. "I managed it even the last time I was here, when I was fourteen." He held out his hand. "And I was tall then. Take my hand. I will show you where it is."

Sure enough, while water plants had grown up, there was a rocky ledge, well hidden that led to and behind the waterfall. It amused Guy to watch her slowly balance her way to the edge and squeeze behind the cascading water.

"OH! Cool beanies!"

Guy turned his back, scanning the landscape, praying neither one had been followed. He wondered if this was another foreign curse, but considering her tone of voice, he thought it was more likely an expression of delight - whether for the cavern or the clothing.

_Truth was, he rather liked her in her tight trousers, out-lining that wonderfully rounded arse than he wanted to bite..._

He pulled down on the crotch of his own trousers, which were suddenly on the tight side. In an attempt to get his mind off her, he wondered if Hood had found this place yet. He took great pains when he was younger to keep from sharing this hidden alcove, keep anyone from finding out. He hadn't wanted to let anyone know about it; it was his secret, his private spot. In fact, Genevieve was the first person he brought to this place. Bringing Marian here would have been out of the question, even if he had thought of it back then...

_How long did it take a woman to change? It wasn't as if she had an array of choices in clothing to choose from..._

"Genevieve?" He pulled off his gloves and tucked them into his sword belt.

"What is the horse's name?"

That came from nowhere. He thought he could hear her bouncing around, struggling. "Do you need... help?"

More grunting and bouncing. "Not from you, not yet. What is the horse's name?"

"Zeus."

"Really?"

"Really." What a strange conversation.

"Do you even know who Zeus is?"

He rolled his eyes. Obviously, she thought his education was limited. In truth, it _was _but still...

"He was the highest of the Greek Gods. He was also known as 'Jupiter'." _Take that! Sometimes, listening to Marian's prattle was educational!_

"Yep. And Jupiter is the largest of the planets in our solar system. Great big gas giant!"

_What was she talking about?_ Before he could ask, she blurted out,

"I have a problem."

"What would that be?"

"I... uhm... need someone to tie me up."

Oh THAT set off a rash of mental images. Guy rolled his eyes. Damn, if suddenly he didn't have intimacy and carnal pursuits and pleasures on his mind all of a sudden, now he had visions of Genevieve tied spread on his bed. After Annie, Guy had been so busy courting Marian and wanting Marian and getting his home ready for Marian, he had not entertained another woman in his bed, instead relying on the availability of his hand.

After all, allowing his hand to tend to his needs ensured there would be no more illegitimate children.

After her death, for sometime, the thought of sexual intimacy with anyone, including his hand, had been stomach turning. It wasn't until he went to London, to John...

_There had been a highborn Lady, Aedyth, the wife of Lord Someone or Somesuch, who was off with Richard fighting for glory in the Holy Land. She was older, still quite beautiful, wiser, looking for a discrete lover. She had been insatiable, domineering, in charge. And while Guy enjoyed their evenings, he left each tryst feeling used up, empty, and treated much like a toy. _

_But for the first time in a few years, he felt virile, alive..._

_'Life goes on, my beautiful one,' she whispered over the supper table in her rooms, that first time. 'Do not pout for what cannot be. I want nothing lasting and you need nothing permanent. It will be a most satisfactory arrangement. Now, come undress me. You know you want to.'_

"Really, I can't seem to... grrrrr. Laces up the side! Whoever heard of such a thing?"

"Come on out. I will do them for you." Guy rolled his eyes.

"Are you sure? You can probably see... stuff."

Guy smirked at what 'stuff' could possibly be. "You would not be the first woman whose laces I have tied."

"OH REALLY? Braggart!" The words were shrewish, but her tone was jovial. Before he could respond, Genevieve made a mad dash from behind the fall, protecting herself from the misty spray with her discarded clothes. Good God, the woman was giggling like a girl!

The sight of her as she came to rest in front of him caused his heart to stop.

_Isandra was right. I've dressed her as a peasant!_

The dress was grey - had he asked Genevieve the exact color, she would have told him it was 'dove grey.' The cut was simple, a scoop neck, fitted through the bodice and to the hip, at which the dress fell straight to the ground, Genevieve's very odd shoes with laces peaking from under the hem. The sleeves were long, coming to a point at the back of her hand. There was a small bit of embroidery in darker grey about the neck and the cuff, but it did not detract from the simplicity of the gown. The silver chain of her crucifix shone brightly next to her sun-kissed skin.

He prayed the kirtle would be more...lady-ish, more to her-

_his_

-station.

Guy was now beyond twitching. "Lay your clothes across your saddle and then allow me to see to your laces." It came out gruffer than he would have liked, but she took no notice and after laying her jeans and white tunic over the saddle, she turned to her right, her arm slung over her head to show a gap in the upper laces. She had managed to get them tightened up to close to under her arm, but was unable to work her way around the last few eyelets.

"So you've done this before?" Genevieve was keeping her tone light, but Guy could sense a - _was it jealousy?_ - thin veneer of strength behind it.

"When I was a boy," he began softly, concentrating on the ties in front of him, "my father fought in the Holy Land, leaving me with my mother..."

_and sister..._

"Oft times," he stumbled on, "she or my sister needed help with laces, among other things. So it is something I am used to doing. There." He tucked the finished tie under the arm opening at the top, brushing soft, slightly damp skin. He fought the urge to put his finger in his mouth to taste the salt of her. Genevieve spun to face him.

"Leaving you to be the man of the house."

_'Vous êtes l'homme de la maison maintenant, Guy. Vous devez regarder sur votre mère et sa sœur.'_

"Aye."

"You have a sister?"

"Isabella. We got on better as children than we do as adults."

"Ah." Genevieve spread her skirts out and tilted back and forth. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Again, Guy's heart fell. At that moment, he decided he was being petty when he purchased it for her. If she saw the silks and velvets his sister paraded in... "You make it beautiful."

Genevieve's jaw dropped in surprise and she blushed. "Such honeyed words falling from your lips. One wonders," and with this she moved around him and looked back at him over her shoulder in a most flirtatious manner, "what favors my lord could possibly be wanting."

_You. I want you, naked and writhing beneath me. I want to hear you cry my name when you come to completion. I want to hear you say 'I lo...'_

"Why would I want anything?" He followed her over to a fallen log next to the pond.

As she sat down, she kicked off her shoes and ankle-high stockings, wiggling her freed pink-painted toes, before she spun on the rock and dipped her feet in the water.

"ACK!" She pulled her feet up quickly, flinging water in the air and showering herself and Guy. "Frack, that's cold!"

Guy flicked the water droplets from his jacket. "I would think it is cold. There will be frost tonight." He felt a frigid bead roll down his nose, making him rub it. "What is 'frack'?"

"I'm trying not to swear." The silly wench was now quickly dipping her toes in the clear water, making circles, hissing at the chilliness of the water. "I doubt the priest will give me a free pass, again!"

"Why do you keep putting them in the water," Guy settled down next to her on the log, his back to the pond, "if it makes you shudder?"

"Because, it's fun! Oh Guy! It is beautiful!" Her smile faded slightly, her eyes lost in a fond memory. "There was a pond near my grandmother's I used to swim in, oh, years ago. It's dried up now. But this..." she slung her arms wide, encompassing the entire small glade and almost beaning Guy in the back of the head had he not ducked, "this is just beautiful!" Again, her smile widened and the wonderment of it brightened Guy's dark world. "I bet you share this with all the girls!"

"Only you," he answered quietly. Genevieve's eyebrows rose at that admission. "You are the only one I have ever brought here." It was quiet for a few moments, moments the knight stared at her mouth. He was shocked when she took his hand.

"Surely, you've brought others here. Friends... I'll bet you were a part of a mess of young boys and the entire group came in when it was warm and you splashed and made so much noise!"

_How do you tell someone who lights up your world that you were a dark, anti-social, broody child..._

Guy was shaking his head. "I... found this place when I was a boy." He pointed to the overflow creek that led into the woods and away from the clearing. "The creek goes into the Gisborne lands proper and once, when I was hiding from chores, I followed it up to here. I spent most of the excursion on my stomach and slithering like a snake under the brush." His free hand wiggled, mimicking said serpent, causing Genevieve to giggle. "My mother was most upset with me, as I became filthy dirty. So I found another way and I marked the trees with my knife; little nicks and niches." Genevieve watched as he looked up, taking in the beauty. "All of this was on what was originally my father's land. I think he would be proud I earned it back."

"He lost it? What happened?"

For a moment, Guy's mood darkened. "He did not lose it. It was stolen from me upon his death. I have taken it back."

_Ah Genevieve, they have both stolen something dear from each other..._

Before Genevieve could question him, he continued on. "In truth, now that I think on it, I was not running from chores when I found this place. I was hiding from my sister." He looked down, stared down at Genevieve, who was gazing at him intently. "She was worse than a puppy, followed me every where, pestered me every chance she was able. Every time I turned around, she was telling Mère every little thing I was in to."

"Mère?" She now held his one hand between both of hers.

"My mother. My mother was French." Guy began to blink. "She was a healer of great renown, kind to every one, no matter..." his voice trailed off.

"No matter… what?"

"Nothing." It grew quiet between them, Guy focusing on what he almost divulged to the woman sitting next to him and Genevieve basking in the pure golden side of this man she doubted anyone saw. This place was special to him, almost... sacred and if he was telling her the truth, she was the only person on earth he shared it with.

_What did that mean?_

"I have decided I do not like that Robin Hood person."

Guy squeezed her hand gently. "He is an outlaw and he tried to rob you. It is natural to not like the man or his friends."

"He called you a murderous demon."

Everything Guy had in him clenched and froze. "Did he mention names?"

Genevieve shook her head, Guy sighing in relief. "No, but-"

"Funny, Robin Hood would accuse me of being a murderous demon. He went to war in the Holy Land; I imagine he killed his fair share of Saracens while there." Wanting to steer the conversation elsewhere, before she questioned him further, he changed the subject. "Why were you crying earlier?"

The question, as were so many of his queries, came out of the blue, unexpected. "What?"

"When you and my armsman were riding so hard from Hood and his gang, you had been crying. Why?" Genevieve dropped her head. Again, with his free hand, he gently tucked under her chin and tilted it up. "Do not lie, Genevieve. I will know. Your eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. What did Hood do to make you cry?"

Taking one of her hands from his, Genevieve pulled her crucifix out. "Hood took it. He told me that I was eating well and many were not and the cross would feed several."

"But Friar Tuck took it from him and returned it. So why did you cry?"

"I cried because he took it, Guy." She was now fingering the ornament, beautiful in its simplicity. "My grandmother gave it to me. It belonged to her mother. She told me when she put it on my neck, when I left for college," she missed Guy's furrowed brow, not understanding what 'college' was, "she told me to keep it close. It would keep me safe, and to remember it was given to me by someone who loved me. I was devastated when he took it away and wasn't going to give it back."

_Don't forget who you are, who made you, who gave you your gifts. Don't let any man make you think less of yourself or undesirable. You find a strong man, who will cherish you, one who will lift you up, support your ideas, keep you strong._..

His hand was now cupping the far side of her face, long fingers spread from her chin to her ear. "It is precious to you."

"Yes." She smiled. "I would fight to get it back. Just as you fought to get this beautiful, peaceful place back."

"Because it is precious to me."

"Ah," she pressed her face into the palm of his hand. "We have had a meeting of the minds. I wonder what happens next?"

Guy knew what he thought should happen next. Using his hand to gently guide her, he lowered his mouth...

Her nose scrunched up, nostrils flared, and she sniffed.

The man jerked back, irritated, the mood - for him - ruined. "Why do you do that?"

Jolted from... whatever it was she was feeling, Genevieve sat up taller, alarm clearly set across her features. "What? Do what? What did I do?"

Guy pulled away from her. "You... sniffed as if you smelled something rank."

If he expected her to deny it, he was disappointed. "I'm sorry. It's just... the smells here are over-powering to me." She gestured to the sky. "Truth is, that was another reason I wanted to go out for a ride. The smell of the town, the house... this is much fresher."

"But you sniffed at me." Guy was not going to let her off the hook easily and it put Genevieve in the wretched position of telling the man-

"When was the last time you got in a tub and bathed?"

_Ooooh chickie-poo. That was NOT tactful!_

Indeed, it wasn't. The knight's brows knitted to almost one, darkening his features. "Bathe? Are you suggesting that I am unclean?"

Immediately, Genevieve sought to soothe the angry beast she had just awakened and insulted. "Well, of course I understand that without indoor plumbing, it's hard to bathe on a daily basis and of course _we _have deodorant soap and antiperspirant and there's the filtering systems in the air conditioning and we don't rely on fire places for heat and there are toilets that actually flush, so _that_ stench isn't hanging around all day and... what?"

Guy was looking at her as if she was a wretched three-headed mythological beast. He raised a finger as if to admonish her, but changed his mind. "Indoor plumbing. You have used this term before."

Genevieve reached over and gently grabbed the wagging digit, pulling his hand back into both of hers. "Indoor plumbing. Something we take for granted, but I never will again, believe you me!" She started to wave the air in thought, seeing his question. "Imagine a large... urn... or cistern that kept heated water in it all the time. And when you wanted to bathe or shower, you turned on a knob and the hot water from the urn was pushed up through a spout. Or rather than a chamber pot, the pot is rinsed with a lot of water and it takes all of... that... away... underground and it doesn't have to be cleaned out or sit around and bake in the sun..." By now, Genevieve was standing up, pacing madly while Guy continued to sit on the rock, his elbow on his knee and his chin cupped in his hand. "We have central air and heat, where one can adjust the temperature in a room, building. Make it warmer or cooler without lighting the fireplace or opening the window." Her mind began to wander... "We have cars to travel in, airplanes to fly-"

"Fly?" Guy didn't believe that for a moment. "Your time... flies."

Genevieve completely missed the sarcasm in the man's voice "Yes. And we have put a man on the moon."

By now, Guy's hand moved from cupping his chin to covering his face. "Next you will be telling me that the world is not flat, but some other odd shape. Tell me something I understand, Genevieve. Tell me of war, tell me of weapons." He removed his hand from his face, braced it on his knee. "Tell me how swords have improved, arrows, armor."

Guy was shocked at the change in her mood. The light in her eyes died, and sorrow graced her features. "We are horrible, Guy. At times, I am so ashamed at what we've become. There are no swords, no arrows. There are guns that shoot metal bullets through a person from... I don't know how far. One can unload a clip of... I don't know... 50 of them in a matter of seconds before reloading. We drop bombs on cities, killing hundreds of people in one swoop. We fight over important things, stupid things..."

"It sounds as if nothing has changed." The man was now standing above her, the look in his eyes, unreadable. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "We have a king who does not speak our language; who has only stepped foot on our soil once since becoming king years ago. We are not *his* people, but simply revenue to fund Rome's war. And you tell me that rather than solving things, things just seem to have gotten worse."

Genevieve nodded. "Oh, some problems are settled, other problems pop up. It's simply a never ending cycle."

It was quiet for a time, the two off in their own personal nightmares, the only sound being that of the waterfall.

"But," Guy spoke up brightly, breaking the painful silence, "you do have chamber pots that clean themselves. That, I must say, is an improvement." He took both of her hands in his. "So perhaps, the air smells better."

"It helps." She smiled shyly up at him. "That and daily showers." She kept a hold of his hands as he pulled back, keeping him close. "Guy! Think. Sweated in leather and horse and rain and dirt and muck and sweat and more sweat..." Her voice trailed off.

"That bad?"

"To me, yes." She shrugged. "Sometimes. I am quite sure the smells of my time would be equally nauseating to you as well. Pollution, colognes, perfumes, diesel exhaust…"

They stood there for a time, holding hands and listening to the quiet, each focused on their own thoughts.

"I have been thinking," the man could speak so softly, he would not disturb mice, "that you are correct about Zeus. It is a cruelty to leave him in the stall or turned to pasture. He should be exercised properly."

"So I can ride him?" Genevieve immediately perked up.

"Aye. But only with me." He didn't tell her that he was enjoying this idyllic time with her, away from his duties, away from Vaisey, away from Hood. This was peace, peace he had forgotten about.

Somehow, she was part of this peace, was an important part of it and even if he came by himself here ever again, it would not be the same. And he wanted _this_ peace again and again and again.

"Tell me something," he whispered. Genevieve nodded. "Explain your adult toys."

She blushed. Not a gentle pink to the cheeks, but a furious red. Genevieve ducked her head and an amused Guy watched as the part in her hair turned as red as blistered skin.

"They are... ah... for personal use."

He bent over, his hands now running up her arms to grip her by the elbows. "I imagine," he whispered, "that considering your reaction, your adult toys are of an...intimate nature."

She nodded.

Guy's hands continued to move upwards, now holding her gently but firmly by her shoulders, and pulled her closer, into him. "Are they to... assuage a... woman's needs?"

She nodded again.

He bent over, his lips trailed across the side of her face to her ear. "Genevieve cannot speak all of a sudden? I do not believe it."

"The world is round."

"You are avoiding the issue and the world is flat. Do not change the subject. Your toys are to relieve a woman's needs? This is so?"

"Yes." He had to strain to hear her, the word, whispered in his chest. "It... scratches... an itch."

His mouth found her ear, his tongue, darting around the very sensitive rim of it, causing her knees to buckle. Guy stepped backwards, bringing her with him, until he found, with the back of his leg, the large rock he knew was behind him. Sitting down, he pulled her into his lap, continuing his assault. His mouth, his teeth nibbled, nipped their way to her jaw line, her fingers were now threading their way through his hair. "Would you rather have a man to tend to that itch?" One hand found its way around her, now caressing that delectable backside.

In an attempt to regain some sort of control, Genevieve grabbed him by both sides of his head and pulled back, gazing at him in earnest. "Yes! Do you know where one is at?"

He stared at her in disbelief for a moment, before finally registering the mischief in her eyes. "Oh," he started to chuckle deep, a rusty sound, "Genevieve Faith Robinson, you are a willful, willful, woman and your willfulness will get you in serious trouble." With this, he kissed her full on the mouth, exploring, sucking on the flesh of her lower lip. His hand found her ankle, stroked, and caressed its way up her leg to her thigh. _Who would think such skin was made of velvet? _She was thoroughly squirming by the time he rose for air. The hand under her dress was resting at the upper most part of her thigh. He smacked it once, causing her to jump. "I know of such a man." He lowered his head, and proceeded to continue his exploration of her mouth.

"Hmmm? Who?" Somehow she managed to get that much out when she raised her chin, leaning back, reveling in the feel of his mouth as it traveled down her neck, to her clavicle, directly above the indention at her breasts. His fingers skirted along and under the edge of her panties. He nipped the rise of flesh at the scooped neckline of her dress.

"Me. But-" He stood up and set her on her feet, "not today." He took advantage of her open mouth to kiss her again. "You are not the only one with a sensitive nose!" He tapped hers to make a point. "Put your shoes back on. I will retrieve our horses. We have tarried long enough."

Embarrassed by the liberties she had allowed him to take, Genevieve sat down on the fallen tree and dusting off the dirt from her feet, she quickly put her tennis shoes back on. She was so upset, she didn't realize her socks were stuffed down in the toes until after she stood up. She stormed over to where the knight was holding both leads. "What do you mean your nose? I've bathed recently-"

"Your menstrual cycle, Genevieve." She gasped. "Your... scent is suddenly rather... musky." He handed her the reins and interlocking his fingers, offered her a hand up.

As upset as Genevieve was, the cool air had cooled her ardor. She accepted the make shift step and settled in the saddle. She struggled with her cloak, until Guy came forward, mounted on his own stallion and then allowed him to fix the clasp. "I think your nose is just over-sensitive," she sniffed.

Grabbing her saddle horn, Guy pulled himself forward. "If my nose is wrong, come to my bed tonight." Genevieve started to jerk away, but he kept a strong grip on her saddle. "Despite what you might think, I do not consider you a conquest, much less an easy one. Perhaps later, we can discuss why you think such. Come." He turned her loose and began to pick his way through the forest, leaving her no choice but to follow. Within a minute, the forest swallowed them both, branches and twigs shaking in their wake, before the air stilled and leaving the little glade quiet again.

Silent.

It sighed.

In the middle of the pond, a shimmer rose in the shape of a short woman. As she took shape, blue wings spread out, the tips dipping in the water and causing it to ripple.

"Rats!"

_Anael. Patience.' _The whisper hissed from the heights of the trees in the wind.

"But the timing was so perfect!"

_The ground is wet. And the floor of the cavern is damp. Besides, it is cold._

The little angel still scowled, dragging her toe sullenly in the water, unmindful of the frigid temperature.

_They are talking. Give them time._

"You didn't give them much time. Remember?"

_Anael! I can warp time._

The being on the water made a perfect 'o' with her mouth. "Ah!"

And with that, she turned into a mass of blue butterflies and scattered into the breeze.

_**~~~...~~~**_

_**That never crosses my mind**_

_**~~~...~~~**_

_Vous êtes l'homme de la maison maintenant, Guy._ - 'You're man of the house now, Guy.'

_Vous devez regarder sur votre mère et sa sœur._ - You must watch over your mother and sister.

_Vous devez prendre soin de votre soeur_. - You must take care of your sister.

A/N~

Thanks~to~all~who~are~reading.

Sorry~for~the~lag,~however~the~motherboard~on~my~computer~went~toes~up~and~until~its~repaired~I~

Do~not~have~a~functional~computer.

Or~one~with~a~space~bar~Sorry~It~is~in~the~shop~but~I~don't~know~how~much~longer~it~will~be~


	11. 10-insist

_**Manna from Heaven**_

_**Chapter 10**_

_**...insist...**_

Carefully, the two made their way back to the road. As they neared, Guy motioned for her to wait, as he checked the road. Assured there was no one around, he signaled for her to follow and they began their journey back to his home.

Their return to Locksley was a study in silence. In truth, Guy was watching for signs that Hood was watching, as well as watching Genevieve.

She sat her horse well.

Truly, after watching her initially race up the road earlier, he had no hesitant thought that she _could_ ride. He was simply angry she was out and about-

_without him_

_-_without proper protection.

As they came within sight of Locksley, Genevieve slowed down. Guy dawdled as well, looking at her over his shoulder. She came to a complete standstill, looking rather... bashful. The knight also stopped and turned his horse around to look at her.

"Wot?"

"Thank you."

This confused him. "For what?"

Genevieve had no idea why all of a sudden, she _was_ self-conscious, why this was so hard. This man, this knight, had showed her more attention in one early afternoon than Lamar had the entire time they had been together. Lamar's idea of an 'outdoor excursion' was attending the annual Georgia Tech-Georgia Bulldog football game, that normally took place in December, cheering on his beloved Bulldogs. While she didn't mind football...

"Genevieve?" Sir Guy's patience was obviously wearing thin.

"For sharing with me. The glade, the pond." She nudged Zeus forward. "It's obviously special to you." As she passed him, his mouth came up in that quirky half-smile of his. "It's a beautifully peaceful place. I hope you take me back soon. Thank you." She lowered her head, looking up at him from the side of her eyes as she passed him by.

He sat staring at her until she was well into the town, before he prodded his own stallion forward.

~~~...~~~

Genevieve unsaddled, stabled, brushed down, and fed her mount, again proving she knew and was comfortable around the beast. On one hand, Guy was pleased he wouldn't have to teach her.

On the other hand, that was _his_ private past time. If she was going to do all this work, what was he going to do to occupy himself before dinner?

It didn't take long for him to decide.

He entered his home... yes, his, no matter what Hood insisted upon, to hear delighted squealing from the upper rooms. Rushing up the stairs, he quickly made his way to Genevieve's open door, to find her sitting on the floor, her lap full of...

"KITTENS! OH GUY! LOOK!" She held up a black, furry beastling.

Guy stood over her and reached down to take it from her grasp.

_~~~...~~~_

_'Oh Guy! Look!' Isabella held up a grey striped kitten. 'Kittens! There are kittens here!' In the filtered light, at that moment, the nine year old girl seemed to have forgotten they had no parents, no home, and thanks to their cousin's bullying, no warm place to sleep. Her eyes shown with an innocence that would soon disappear forever. 'If there are kittens, then this is a good place! We will be fine, will we not? Guy? We will be fine, if kittens are here!'_

_He smiled for her sake. Living in their grand-père's barn was the lowest of the low. After everything, every struggle, every insult to get to their mère's family in France, everything he had done, tolerated, the abuse he endured, Guy knew he was a failure as a brother... a son..._

_It was his fault they were here to begin with, in this situation. He destroyed everything..._

_'Guy?'_

_Still smiling, he reached over and scratched the furry thing behind the ear and lied to her, promising himself someday, he'd make what he was about to say truth and make it up to her. 'Aye, we will be fine...'_

_~~~...~~~_

The little monster hissed at him, as he held it by the scruff of the neck and growled with all the fury of a four-week-old kitten. He inspected it, all the while listening to Genevieve coo and giggle like a young girl he once loved deeply.

_Loved until she turned into a hateful shrew and blamed him for the moon's waning._

He placed it in the palm of his hand, ridiculing himself when it extended its claws and raced up to his shoulder, butting up against his neck and burying into his long hair.

"Oh!" Genevieve had her hands full and appeared to be loving it. "It likes you! We should name that one after you."

He plucked the fiend from his shoulder and set it back down in her lap. "I fear that would be an insult to this one." He nodded. "It is a girl." He stood up, hearing his back crack. "Where is their mother?"

Genevieve pointed to the bed to where a large grey striped cat he recognized from the barn, lay curled up at the foot of her bed. "Apparently, Mama is a mouser and Thornton brought her and her babies up to clear out the swarm of mice in my room." She smirked, something Guy found amusing. "I just hope she doesn't leave the backbone and tail on my bed as a gift." Now, Guy was smirking. "We had a cat that would capture field mice, turn them loose in the house and made us leave before they would catch them and dispose of them. She would leave the carcasses on the dining room table." Now, his shoulders were shaking at her outrageous tale. "Oh, laugh it up. It was disgusting!"

He nodded, now in that uncomfortable spot for him; he had nothing to say. "I am going," he motioned with his thumb over his shoulder, "to take care of a few things. I will see you at dinner."

Fifteen minutes later, he sank in the tub, reminding himself that yes, this was definitely much better than a morning sponge bath from a cold, frigid bowl.

And of course, Genevieve's complaint had _nothing_ at all to do with it.

~~~...~~~

Dinner was a quiet affair, everyone staying out of Guy's way. _'Obviously,'_ he thought smugly to himself, _'they do not wish to incur the wrath I should be doling out to Michael. Which reminds me, I do need to discipline him. What ghastly guard duty should I...' _the thought wandered off. Genevieve sat next to him, in her simple gown, slowly pushing her food around her plate. Finishing up with the main course, he picked up a small bunch of grapes and plucked one, before leaning over the arm of his chair. "Did my nose deceive me?" He popped it in his mouth.

"No," she snarled. She feared her precious stash of tissue would be used up as mock sanitary pads, if the pile of kittens didn't shred them first. She put the box on the mantle over the fireplace, but kittens had this way of climbing into things. She had already informed Thornton, the minute the tub was full of extremely hot water, she was going to stay there a while. Next time she dreamed of Val, she'd mention if they were going to make her have a menstrual cycle in this place, someone in the 'Keeping Genevieve From Going Nuts In The Dark Ages' department needed to magically materialize tampons! And a door or a standing privacy wall to the small corner.

And a door latch. She had a feeling Guy was going to make a habit of walking in and out of her room at will.

Part of her didn't mind and that bothered her.

"Are you not hungry?" The question was gently spoken. "I would think you would be starving considered how little you ate this morning."

The opening volley of menstrual cramps seized her right after Guy left the room - to take a BATH of all things and the man smelled of lavender, but she was not going to complain, not one bit - and again, she decided as soon as she arrived back in her time, she would happily have the implant removed. The cramping and the backache was yet another side affect she had and typically the only thing that helped was a heating pad and rest. At least she had Tylenol in her bag.

_Headnote to Val. Tylenol with codeine. And tampons. Please and thank you._

"I'm jonesing for some chocolate, but I'm certain you don't have it."

Guy turned sideways, slinging his leg over the arm of the chair. He popped another grape into his mouth. "What is 'jonesing'?"

Genevieve sighed. Did he have any clue just how sexy he was doing that? "It means I'm craving it." His eyebrows bore down in consternation. "It means I really, really, really want chocolate."

He pulled yet another grape from the stem, inspecting it closely before putting it in his mouth. "I have no clue as to what chocolate is."

Her back now aching horribly, she stood slowly, jolting Guy from his comfy position. He quickly stood up, noticing with mild concern the stress on her face. "I have a silly suspicion that you would love chocolate flavored ice cream. I'm going to take a bath." She turned to leave.

Guy grabbed her by the arm, gently, but with conviction. "Genevieve, about this afternoon..." his voice trailed off until she looked up at him. He leaned over so that his words would be just between the two of them. "I am not sorry that certain things happened and I intend on finishing them. Soon."

Genevieve's jaw flapped for a moment, before she responded. "Again, I fear I would be too easy a conquest-"

His grip now tightened in anger. "So you have stated before, as well as a reference to a 'Her.' You are not a conquest and there is no other woman that I-"

"Living."

He jerked back as if slapped when she said it. _What did she know? How much did she know?_

_Who told her? She has wandered freely among the locals when it was not raining..._

Rather than revulsion or condemnation or worse - pity, Genevieve looked at him with compassion. "I'm not the only one who cries in their sleep at night, Guy." He immediately turned loose of her arms, dropping them in shock. "You must have loved her very much to hurt so." She stepped backwards, out of his reach. "Mine... didn't die, but he might as well be dead to me. It hurts and I can't begin to imagine..." She hugged herself tightly, leaving the thought unfinished. "I'm going to take a bath and then go to bed. My back is starting to hurt." With that, she slipped up the stairwell. Guy watched as Eleanor stopped her, nodded her head at whatever instructions Genevieve gave her and then his eyes followed her up the stairs. He was still watching the hallway where she disappeared when a gentle tap pulled him from his musings.

"Yes, Thornton."

Thornton stood at his side, the girl, fearfully tucked behind him. There was a time, that trepidation would have made him feel powerful, but now... he had not harmed her, nor her insignificant family. Why would she be terrified of him?

_What had she heard, what did she believe and what had she told Genevieve?_

"According to old Maud, it will be quite cold tonight. She predicts frost." Old Maud had been old for as long as Guy could remember and her bones told her much of weather. She was never wrong.

"Light the fires in the fireplaces. Especially the bedrooms. You do not need to ask me."

"We are adding extra quilts to both beds, sir." Guy nodded. "There is a... concern."

Guy waited.

And waited.

Finally, Eleanor spoke up. "It's Lady Genevieve, Sir Guy. She... well..."

"Yes?"

"She doesn't really have anything to sleep in, nothing warm honestly," the girl blurted. It came out so fast, the knight likened it to squeezing a boil and rupturing it in all of its disgusting splendor. "'Tis disgraceful what she's been sleeping in, actually."

_Yes, I have seen that thin tunic and the extremely short trousers she sleeps in and disgraceful is not the word I would use to describe..._

A sly smirk graced his features. "I will take care of that." He handed her goblet to his steward. "Lady Genevieve's back is paining her." He ducked his head, nodding to the upper floor. "Perhaps we have something to help her?"

"Of course."

"You know," Guy's voice dropped. "Women problems."

The servant brightened somewhat. "Ah. I have just the thing." He took in Guy's questioning look. "Sir Guy," he gently reminded him, "I _did_ have a wife and two daughters. I know the symptoms well." The man turned to the young girl, still hiding behind him. "Eleanor, come with me. I have something you may take to her." With that, the two turned to the kitchen, leaving the food on the table. Guy looked into the gloom and saw Godric moving to clear the board. "Leave the grapes and the wine. Bring a second goblet and another bottle. Tell Thornton I wish to speak to him privately."

The knight left his hall, heading up the stairs. The door to the bathroom was closed, steam from the fireplace, the heated water, escaping through the cracks.

Guy entered his room, mind racing.

_Something warm... something comfortable... something not so scandalous... something I can get off her quickly...no wait..._

He ended up with one of his current shirts (The Lord had been generous in her endowments, Guy figured she would need the room) and an old pair of drawstring trousers that he had not worn or slept in in quite some time. Both were heavy and should suffice for the evening. He left the clothing on her bed, noticing the kittens were asleep on the extra quilts in a pile...

...and the backbone and tail of a no-longer living mouse at the foot. There was scurrying in the eaves above, so at least the mother of this furry bunch was doing her job. Gingerly picking the leavings up by the tip of the tail, Guy went to the window and threw it outdoors, before shutting and securing the shutters. He stoked the fire in the fireplace, making sure there was plenty of wood for the evening. He rinsed his hands in the water; his mother had pounded into him early that such filth should not linger on one's skin. Sickness and illness came from such and even at a young age, Guy remembered standing at his mother's side, watching more than one friend be buried due to things she thought were preventable.

Then after dumping the water, he went back downstairs, sitting at the table, with his leg slung over the chair arm, swinging it slowly and waited for the household to settle down.

He wanted to chat with Thornton. A chat he did not think he could have with anyone else.

~~~...~~~

Genevieve had never appreciated a bath more than this one. Her back ached and would for the next 18 hours. Damn Eve and her apple habit! Eleanor brought in a pot of herbal tea and a goblet of doctored something or other and chattered inanely about warmer nightclothes, something Genevieve had not thought of.

She waited until Eleanor left, taking her new dress with her to air out and hang up. Once the door shut and things quieted, she reached into the basket hanging on the side of the tub and retrieved the bottle of Tylenol she had hidden from the girl. She quickly downed two pills with a swallow of the hot tea.

She listened to the activity outside the door while she lounged, hearing Guy's spurs rattle about the upper floor - including her room. She was going to have to have a talk with him about that. Most certainly this was his home, but a bit of privacy and respect for her space would be appreciated. After all, she respected his space and didn't go tearing through his things trying to find her things.

That was something else she needed to discuss with him: her things that he was keeping. After all, it was a _woman's _vibrator. What could he possibly use it for? She did not want to even consider the fuzzy handcuffs. That boy probably spent enough time in a dungeon...

She picked up the soap he brought. Lavender. That was another thing. She very much appreciated the effort, but if he was going to make bathing a habit - and she hoped he did - she needed to get with someone to find him a more manly smelling soap!

_I wonder if they have Old Spice around here... please not Ax or Tag..._

She sat in the water until it cooled, before getting out, pulling the plug and wrapping up in a bath sheet. This particular menstrual cycle was going to be nasty and messy and she certainly wasn't looking forward to it. She realized, as she stood in the bath room that the sun had gone down and with it, so had the temperature.

As she did every evening after a bath, she listened at the door. The last thing she wanted to do was run into Guy or Joffrey or... anyone... clad in only a bath towel. Cracking the door, she heard masculine murmuring - Guy's and Thornton's - from downstairs, so she quickly slipped out and ran to her room.

The first thing she noticed was the two piles on her bed. Extra quilts and something... black. It was warm in front of the freshly fueled fireplace, so she grabbed her panties, squirming at the knowledge she would be wearing them for several days straight, as the thought of wearing a thong with no tampon made her mildly nauseous. Once she took care of that bit of nasty business, she realized that the black pile on the bed was obviously the warmer night clothing Eleanor mentioned. She picked up the shirt, shaking it out.

Guy heard her laughter clear into the main hall.

~~~...~~~

"Sit. Please." Gesturing to Thornton, Guy poured wine into the clean, unused goblet and set it before Genevieve's spot. Funny, the woman had been there five days and it was already _her_ spot.

Thornton appeared to think for a moment, before settling down in the chair next to Guy's. Everything was cleaned, finished and all the servants had gone home. Joffrey was holed up in his room off the guardroom, so essentially, they were alone. The heat from the fireplace was cozy, completely masking the dropping temperature outside.

Guy was inspecting the wine in his goblet, thinking deeply about how to broach the subject he wanted to discuss. "I recall you give good advice."

"Thank you, Sir Guy."

"About women."

Thornton froze for a moment and Guy caught it. The only time Sir Guy had asked Thornton his opinion about women, was on his cursed wedding day, when Marian... well... behaved like Marian, setting off a string of unfortunate circumstances. Thornton was in a painful position of knowing a lot more than he should. He was taught by his predecessor to keep his mouth closed and his opinions to himself unless pressed and then to give out only what he had to with as much tact as possible.

It was his personal, well-kept quiet opinion that Marian was _not_ the woman for Sir Guy; that she was too rashly independent, self-centered, and that her father spoiled her outrageously. Truth be told, he was shocked at her unlady-like behavior at the ceremony and actually felt had the two of them talked it out privately, discussed it, perhaps it would have ended differently. He heard the complaints from the townspeople about Sir Guy, still spoke to Robin quite regularly in regards about certain situations and on occasion, the man as well. But he refused to tell Robin of the inner workings of the home, the fact that Sir Guy struggled inwardly with much as of late. He was amazingly stressed and, upon his return from the Holy Lands, on the verge of a complete break-down. He knew the knight sitting next to him did not like his overlord, nor did he like the Prince very much. He had definitely well-deserved beliefs and views when it came to King Richard and fact was, Thornton agreed with Sir Guy in that aspect. An absentee king who bled the country dry for money for someone else's war was no king. Sir Guy might not remember him, but Thornton remembered Sir Guy and his sister as children, before their parents had died in that horrible fire. Such a terrible accident...

He often wondered what had happened to the dispossessed teenaged boy everyone quickly forgot about. His only 'crime' had been that he was born to a French mother and had a father with leprosy. And now that he had returned, he wondered how differently Sir Guy would have turned out had he had a nurturing father figure during those formative years he so desperately, so badly needed one.

He wondered if the people in the shire realized that Sir Guy's anger was long fostered by twenty years of fermenting...

There were many rumors concerning Marian's death; disturbing rumors, unkind. Thornton refused to discuss, entertain... gossip was the devil's sword. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Sir Guy loved Lady Marian to the point where had he truly killed her, as the whispers stated, he did it in pure fury, red-eyed anger, one that rendered a man senseless for a time. There was no way the knight would have planned it, set about it. And if so, he was paying dearly for it now. Many times, especially after his return with the Sheriff, Thornton feared he would kill himself, that he was going insane.

Thornton remembered his own grief after his wife died...

_Love is a blind whore with mental disease and no sense of humor..._

"I… overheard a conversation the other day... among the guards." Guy lifted his goblet and took a deep drink. "Strange really, how it came about, I am not quite sure, but it piqued my interest and made me rather curious."

_'He is stalling,' _Thornton thought to himself. '_Or Lady Genevieve has him running in a circle chasing his tail.'_ Now that woman was an enigma. Independent, yes, in some ways like Marian, but she was kind to the knight, whereas Marian was standoff-ish, cool. Genevieve initiated contact, conversation...

She verbally and mentally danced with him.

"What were they talking about, Sir Guy?"

The man set his goblet down rather forcefully. "A woman's needs." He seemed to be staring into the fireplace, watching the flames jump and cavort. "Apparently, the discussion centered on the idea that a woman has physical needs, desires, much like a man's," with this he looked up at the steward, which while Thornton appeared to stay calm and collected, he was actually frightened immensely, "and that, like a man, they should not be ridiculed or judged, if they deal with those needs discretely."

Continuing to school his features, Thornton's mind moved swiftly. He wondered who had propositioned who. The two had been alone and unsupervised for quite sometime in the woods today. Had Guy presented Genevieve with the added security of his protection for a boon? Had Genevieve responded to the hypocrisy of the suggestion, or demanded he meet her needs?

Neither one appeared to be overly upset upon their return.

"Sir Guy," the servant sat up, setting his goblet down. He would need to select his words very carefully. "Once, some time back, you asked me if I understood women, particularly, my wife."

"Aye. I remember." Guy's tone was tight, the response came from a clenched jaw. Thornton did not miss that the knight's fist was white knuckled, he clenched it so fiercely.

"I believe women do have needs, physical, earthy needs." The man realized he was treading on very shaky ground. "When we were first married, before the children came, she exhausted me, was quite demanding." He heard the knight chuckle. "When the children arrived," with this, the steward nodded, "many times, I fear loving me was a chore, something she had to put up with. I did not stop to think that perhaps she was simply tired with the responsibilities, the work, and the children. She was up with them in the night when they were sick. She was awake before they were, in bed after them. Children," he nodded to the knight, picking up his goblet again, "are busy business, will wear a mother out. But once they were grown, independent, she returned to wearing me out at night."

The knight turned, faced the table, propping his elbows on it and sinking his head in his hands. "I know a woman has desires; that was not what interested me about the conversation."

Guy was pondering many things at one time; something he did not like to do. His feelings for Marian, the sheriff's recent comments about Annie, his own recent musings on finding a wife, Lady Aedyth, the mysteries of Genevieve. Attempting to compartmentalize each situation, each woman was maddening.

_Damn. Living with his hand was looking better and better. At least it wasn't confusing and he knew what it desired. _

"What interested you about the conversation then?"

The knight pushed back from the table and seemed to return his attention to the strand of grapes. He plucked one from the stem, inspecting it, before putting it in his mouth. "Sluts, ladies, and whores. Same or different? And if they are different, how are they different and why?" Standing up, he went to the fireplace and spit the seed into the fire. "And do we care?"

Now Sir Guy seemed to be making sense; the hypocrisy of sex and the sexes. Thornton finished his goblet, the potency of the grape going to his head as he stood up. For the moment, he was glad his lord was not watching him; his greatest fear was being retired and this man needed every person in his corner he could get; the knight had few friends and fewer confidants. "I have heard tales of ladies who are no more than sluts and whores who are truly ladies. One cares not for the emotional aspect of making and showing love and affection and the other is only trying to put food on the table. Such a woman as the later should not be ridiculed, in my opinion." For a time, there was no sound save that of the crackling in the fireplace. The silence was shattered by Genevieve's joyous laughter from above. They listened for the moment, such a sound rarely heard in Locksley Manor anymore. Thornton had often thought to himself that had Sir Guy and Lady Marian married, their children would be like their parents; broody, withdrawn, and cold, - taking the first two from their father and the other from their mother.

"As for do we care, caring is what makes us human, 'tis what makes the bond. Birth is simply a status, granted by others. My wife, God rest her soul, was more a lady than many ladies I have seen pass through to Nottingham." He stepped away from the table, setting his chalice down softly. "I know of men who are bigger sluts than many women called by that name. Their appetites become jaded, grossly mismanaged. They consider the women they use to be nothing more than a ways to a means of an end, not caring that the woman they are bedding has given themselves to their partner in love or duty. Women are expected to maintain a certain amount of self-control, whereas men are patted on the back for bedding as many wenches as they can. I find that hypocritical." The wine had obviously loosened the man's tongue. "Oftentimes I wonder if it simply our egos, undesiring to be compared unfavorably to a previous lover." It was quiet for a moment save the crackling in the fireplace where the knight gazed silently. "Sir Guy, 'tis not the money nor the birthright that makes a woman a lady. Instead, 'tis the way she holds herself and how she treats others. One can be born into a class, however that does not mean they have class. But that is simply my opinion and means nothing to anyone, but me." He inhaled deeply, praying he had not offended Sir Guy. When he did not lash out, Thornton continued, "Will there be anything else, my lord?"

"One more thing." Guy was staring intently into the fire, paying no attention to his steward. "If someone has a dream about another person, in which they are in danger and they go to extraordinary measures to save that person, even if it is someone they do not know very well. What do you think this would mean?"

The man was quiet for so long, Guy finally turned to ensure he was still in the room or not passed out on the table. "I would say that the dreamer is very compassionate or cares for the person he or she saved very much."

"Even if they did not know them for long?"

Thornton smiled a very sad smile. "Sir Guy. I fell in love with my wife the first time I laid eyes on her. I was fifteen." He picked up the goblet and headed towards the kitchen before stopping. "Sir, if I may... when one's first choice does not love one back, was he or she truly the first choice? Perhaps the second choice should have been first to begin with. You will never find the right person, if you never let go of the wrong one." His grip tightened on the stem of the chalice. "Forgive me if I have been too bold."

Guy watched as the man took the goblet to the kitchen and listened to him leave through the back entrance. Once the manse quieted, he sauntered to the table to the table and refilled his own pewter tankard. Taking a sip, he appreciated the drink even more. "Why do you think I gave you the wine to begin with?" Draining the chalice, he then eyed the stairs, thinking on if he wished to challenge Genevieve to a battle of wits before he was too drunk to stand.

Her echoing laughter yet again answered the question for him. Grabbing a hold of the wineglass and the bottle, he shouted for Joffrey to barricade the doors as he headed up the stairs.

~~~...~~~

_Damn, this one's bad!_

Genevieve rubbed her back. Even after the Tylenol and the willow bark tea, her backache was not easing up a bit. She would probably give her iPad and her company for a heating pad at this moment. She paced the room, stretching and trying to avoid rambunctious kittens. Dear God, they were in to everything! And underfoot! Small wonder her grandmother made her keep them in the barn!

_I need heat. I really need moist heat._

It suddenly occurred to her that there was a washcloth next to the basin of water Eleanor left for her to rinse off (and pour in the chamber pot to make it less... icky) in the mornings. She tried to make her way quickly to it, however, she tripped twice over the ridiculously long sleeping pants, Sir Guy had loaned her. Again laughing out loud at the absurdity of it, she rolled them up for the third time. While she appreciated the tie waist, they were a good foot too long for her frame.

_I swear the man has legs that go to heaven!_

The shirt, truth be told, was no better. It was long, going almost to her knees. The wrists tied and while she managed to get one kinda-sorta done, the other evaded her, so the cuff also was way to long, unless she attempted to roll it up and it had ties that went below her knees.

Dipping the cloth into the water and wringing it out, she realized that what she was going to attempt wasn't going to work clothed the way she was.

Off came the pants.

She slung them over the bed, vowing to put them back on when she went to sleep and made her way back to the fire.

The temperature dropped rapidly after the sun went down and her body shook. In Atlanta, the weather remained hot until October and then was mild through well into November. It wasn't normally until Halloween before the temperatures became more like a warm autumn, never truly dropping in the 40's until late November. So with her thin, Southern blood, this was freezing cold. Putting her back to the heat of the fireplace, she lifted her sleeping shirt and pressed the damp cloth to her lower back. That felt good, but her thighs were probably going to be blistered.

But it felt wonderful. Her back relaxed a little bit.

So deeply entranced by the moist heat and warmth of the fire, she did not hear the knock at the door.

"Genevieve?"

She jerked from her reverie, her hand still pressed to her back and turned, facing her intruder. Guy stood in the doorway, his head tilted sideways. His mouth curved partway into a smirk. "Lady Genevieve. Who would have thought..."

Along with the backache, tended to come extreme irritability and short-temperedness. The main reason Genevieve excused herself early from dinner was to keep from taking her belligerence and crabbiness out on everyone. She figured they had to put up with Sir Snarksalot; they didn't need her bad-temper added to the pot.

"I came," he started gamely, "to see if you would like some wine to relax you. My sister always cried with hers when she was young." He lifted the bottle to prove his point.

_See Chickipoo? He's being nice! And you're calling him names! Who's the snarky one now?_

"Knocking," she wheezed, trying to keep her front to him and not exposing her entire backside to the man. "Have you ever tried knocking?"

"I did. Besides," he continued, "this is my home."

"I'll remember that next time I'm straining on the chamber pot," she hissed. "That will be a really nice sight for you!" The knight looked at her completely unaffected by her crassness. She hung her head. "I'm sorry. I'm being unusually crude. My back hurts and I just don't like anyone right now." She shrugged and removed the cloth, causing the shirt to completely drop back into place.

"Is there something wrong with the leggings?"

"Sweetheart, your legs are a whole lot longer than mine."

Guy's eyes never left hers, seeming to ignore the pet name. "Put them on."

"But-"

"Put them on."

"Are you going to at least leave?"

"No."

"Turn around?"

"No."

"Guy-"

"Genevieve," he interrupted smoothly. "You would have been in them by now. Besides," he relaxed back on one cocked hip," I saw more of your legs when I picked you up off the ground in that outfit you called a dress."

Genevieve reached the bed and deciding to put as much space between her and Sir Guy as possible, made her way around the huge piece of furniture and behind the bed curtain. She reached across to grab the pants. "You know, you haven't told me how you found me. I assumed you found me in the road, which I find disconcerting."

Guy had wondered when she would ask this question. For several days, he contemplated exactly what he would tell her. Considering everything that had happened and everything he hoped would happen, he decided that lying outrageously was not an option. "You in the road was the least disconcerting thing about your arrival."

She had the pants by the waistband, holding them almost to her breasts. They still were dragging the floor. "What do you mean by that?" She stopped her inspection long enough to look up and glare at him. "Are these things clean?"

Arms crossed, he tilted his head and smirked. "I have never worn them," he lied smoothly. "I prefer to sleep in my skin." He saw no need to tell her most nights regardless of how he _preferred_ to sleep, he typically was passed out and slept in the clothes he was wearing. "Are you cold?"

Genevieve was bent over, stepping into the pants. "Yes. Why?"

"You give a generous view."

She looked up at him and then followed his view to the gaping low vee neckline of the shirt she was wearing.

He could see everything.

With a hiss, she stood up, the waistband of the pants, around her thighs. "And you're getting ready to have kitten claws in a rather sensitive place, Sir Guy."

Guy wasn't buying that. "Do not try to distract me."

Genevieve stood up, with the pants still around her thighs. "Suit yourself."

The next sound was a painful hiss coming from the knight, as a small black kitten leapt from the table and onto his upper thigh, sinking its razor sharp claws in, close to his groin. He never thought he'd get the little monster detached from his leg and it was a great blow to his ego when no sooner than he managed to get the thing's claws disengaged - with it screaming outrageously as if he had harmed it - then it was snatched from his hands by That Woman.

Who proceeded to coo and pet it. "Poor Maleficent."

"Poor Maleficent? Poor me!" He rubbed his leg, checking to make sure there was no blood loss. He looked up to see that Genevieve was now completely swathed in black from neck to...

He could see why she laughed. The trousers were ridiculously long. "What is a Maleficent?"

"This one's name is Maleficent." She held it close to her chest, something that made Guy rather jealous. "If you're not careful, history will repeat itself." She jutted her chin back to the table.

Guy stepped away in time to see a little ginger stripe wiggle its rear in anticipation of a jump.

It landed spectacularly on the floor.

Picking it up by the scruff of the neck, causing it to mewl pitifully, he addressed Genevieve. "Where is their mother?"

"She comes down to nurse," she placed the black kitten - Maleficent - over in the corner on a pillow, where two more balls of fluff lay in the middle, curled up. "The rest of the time, she's up in the ceiling, making noises and dropping her bones on the floor." She then took the one Guy was holding and proceeded to put it over in the growing fluff pile as well.

No sooner than the words were out of her mouth, there was scratching up in the rafters and a plop. Another dead offering was dropped and left in the middle of the floor. "Gross," Genevieve's nose was curled from her snarl. "That's the second one she hasn't eaten." There was an abandoned cleaning cloth on the table and grabbing it, she used it to glove her hand.

As she leaned over to pick the dead mouse up, Guy placed his hand on her wrist. "Allow me. " With no revulsion, he picked the thing up by the tail, opened the shutter a little ways, letting in a blast of cold air, and tossed the carcass into the night. "At least she is doing her job." After bringing the shutters to a close, he went to the wash basin and rinsed his hands. "Do not wash your face in that."

"I didn't intend to." Moving slowly around him, she picked up the basin and dumped it in ... the chamber pot, of all places. She then poured more water into the bowl from the pitcher next to it. "Could be worse. Could be rats." He silently agreed with her. He had seen rats on the wharf as big as cats. They were loathsome, terrifying creatures. He watched as she then made her way back to the fireplace. Turning her back to it, and facing the knight, she lifted the back of her shirt and basked in the heat.

"Does it help?" he blurted.

Genevieve nodded, her eyes closed. "Somewhat. What I wouldn't give for a heating pad. And Angie, my masseuse." She opened her eyes long enough to see him pick up yet another dead mouse from the floor. "God, you've got an infestation."

"Common problem," he responded. "It is getting cold, so they seek a warmer place to live, just like the rest of us." This time, she noticed he used the cloth to pick up the dead thing. "What is a heating pad?"

She opened her mouth to explain, but ended up to dropping her head. "Another modern day convenience."

"Ah." He was now standing back in front of her, watching her concentrate on the pain in her back. "Your world is full of… conveniences. Turning knobs that magically pour out hot and cold water...flying." He reached out, two fingers gently lifting her chin, an effort to get her to look at him. "What is a 'heating pad'?"

Genevieve knew it would be a pointless effort to try to side-step him, so she did her best. "A pad that gets hot. I prefer moist heat."

Guy was inspecting her, much like a prize horse and had the numbing effects of the Tylenol and willow bark not kicked in, she would have called him on the carpet for it. "Wet heat. Which is why you had a wet cloth to your back and standing against the fireplace." She nodded, eyes closed. "And you would like a massage. I would be happy to assist you in that, if you would allow it."

Genevieve's mind was floating, barely hearing. "You would do that for me?"

The long fingers tucked under her chin, moved sensuously along her jawline. "Aye. I would do that. However, there is one thing I would like to do first. More than anything."

"Hmmm." Genevieve lost herself in the tender touch. "And what is that?"

"I would like to tie you up."

_**~~~...~~~**_

_**Maybe in the parking lot**_

_**~~~...~~~**_


	12. 11- on it's own

_**Manna from Heaven**_

_**Chapter 11**_

_**...on its own...**_

"I would like to tie you up."

Genevieve's jaw dropped and the fact he shocked her, amused Guy to no end. "Excuse me?"

One side of Guy's mouth lifted in a smirk. "Your wrists. I would tie them up for you."

For a brief moment, a fire flickered in her eyes. _Interest?_ "You want to tie me up? Aren't you getting a bit ahead of yourself?" It was spoken softly, with a hint of coyness.

_Ah, most definitely more than a sparkle of interest._ Guy lifted his forearms, showing the ties at them. "Your ties at the wrist. They are dragging the floor and might encumber your sleep." He nodded to keep her from seeing his obvious grin of satisfaction. "I would hate that." He reached out with one hand, palm up. "Please."

With just a hint of hesitation, she placed her right wrist in cup of his hand, watching as he laced the ties up at and above her wrist, similar to his, before exchanging it for her left. "How do you do this on your own?"

Guy was thoroughly engrossed in the act. "If I do it on my own, it is wet and a messy knot. I use my teeth. Most of the time however, Joffrey or Thornton aids me with it." He looked up and winked at her. "Unless you would like to do it?" She jerked her arm away just as he tightened down the last knot, surprise clearly written on her face. "Ah, m'lady. If you do not trust me to adjust and tie your clothing properly, how will you trust me for something as simple as a backrub?"

It was a stand off and both knew it was such. Finally, Genevieve relented. "Well, seeing how you managed to lace me up earlier, without accosting me, I suppose I can trust you in this as well." She bent over, rolling up the extremely long leggings to above her ankles, again, giving him an enjoyable view of her feminine attributes, not that he was complaining, nor would he tell her.

Once she was rolled up, she made her way to the bed. "Back rub, eh?" She looked at him askance over her shoulder. "Promise you won't try anything?"

Guy closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get his bearings with this woman. Not to mention, she looked fetchingly ridiculous in his clothes. "I tell you true that while I enjoy making love to a woman, I do not enjoy the mess made while loving one during her menstrual cycle." He scowled, something she giggled at. "That is something I never wish to experience again." His scowl deepened, deep in thought. "Nor have I taken an unwilling one to my bed."

Genevieve drew up. "Where did that come from? I would never think you would force yourself on a woman." She cocked her head. "I don't see many women being unwilling when it comes to your bed, Guy."

"You would be surprised."

Genevieve climbed up on the bed and turned around to face him. "Guy, I would think that you have women throwing themselves at you." _Yep! The Tylenol and the Willow Bark and other miscellaneous, unknown herbs have kicked in and not only relaxed you, but relaxed your tongue as well! At this rate, you'll be in his bed screaming 'Take me, Big Boy!' the minute your period is over!_

Despite the silliness going on in Genevieve's head, Guy's smile was joyless, utterly without humor. "Serving girls who wish for favors, mostly." Before she could respond, he waved her off. "They do not interest me. I have become more... demanding in recent years."

Genevieve's response when it came, was so soft, he had to struggle to hear. "You are more demanding of your partner in bed or you are more demanding of the requirements of the partner you desire?"

Guy bit his tongue to keep from snapping at her. In the faint glow of the fireplace, she didn't see the tic in his jaw. Rather than lash out, he crossed the room to where she left the cloth she had pressed to her back earlier. Dipping it in the water and wringing it out, he laid it over the fireplace screen to heat it. "Would you like a back rub or not?"

She started to tell him no, but at this moment, the conversation was interesting at least and titillating at best. Perhaps this would set her over the edge and she would sleep in some sort of peace this night. "Yes."

He nodded once before, pointing over his shoulder and stepping from the room. "I have something that might help." Genevieve slid off the bed and quickly spread up the two extra quilts folded at the end of the bed before folding them back at the bottom. She heard him rustling around in his room, a lid banging before he returned, holding a crudely made small glass urn and another wine bottle.

"What's that?"

"Scented oil and wine for you, if you wish. This," he lifted the wine, "is not as potent." He nodded towards the bed. "Climb up. On your stomach."

She did as he asked and lay down. "Scented oil, Sir Guy? If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to seduce me." She completely missed his snarky grin. The man had made no bones of his desire for her, but only under the right circumstances and atmosphere. If anything, this would make the woman less argumentative and defensive about it. It was all about the timing. Conquest, indeed. Not hardly! The supporting ropes underneath the bed groaned miserably when the knight joined her, straddling her upper thighs. Grabbing her pillow, she cushioned her head, her hands tucked under. "Between whatever was in the drink Eleanor brought up earlier and the Tylenol I took with it," she gasped slightly as he raised the back of her shirt, "I rather doubt I should have any more of any kind of wine."

Calloused fingers whispered along her spine, in pretense of rolling her shirt and tucking it high. "God forbid I should attempt to seduce an overly-relaxed woman. Where is the delight in that?" Guy dead-panned. He quickly changed the subject. "What is Tylenol?" His fingers traced down her spine, before his thumbs began to work, pressing firmly into her flesh. "Where does your back pain you the most?"

"Lower. In the small." She inhaled sharply when he pressed where she was aching the most.

"There?"

"Yes. Ow." She attempted to stretch, only to find she couldn't with him sitting on her thighs. "Damn, that hurts."

Cool oil was dribbled along her lower spine, the scent of sandalwood rising gently in the air, before he gently went to work on the muscle. "Your language-"

"Yes, I know," she sighed. "My bad. I'm sorry."

Suddenly, he leaned completely over, covering her, and whispered in her ear "Are you _just _bad? Or are you naughty?"

The question made her giggle. "Go back to what you were doing. It feels good."

Reluctantly, he did as she asked, resettling on his legs, which were folded beneath him. Genevieve buried her face in her pillow, suddenly aware that the man was aroused. Considering what she was feeling, she had the distinct feeling that the reason women were not throwing themselves at him was quite obviously apparent.

He was huge.

Yes, he was tall, well-formed, and enough bulk to shake the rafters when he walked, but he...

He was huge!

The thought made her tingle.

"You did not answer my question. What is Tylenol?"

Grateful to be redirected in her thoughts, she responded, "It's an analgesic."

The lovely fingers came to a halt. "An anal what?"

She laughed again. _Oh yes, very relaxed! _"An analgesic. A pain-killer. Between the Tylenol, the wine, the whatever was in the wine, and your wonderful fingers, I should be jello." She snickered at the thought. "In fact, I am probably jello now."

"And jello would be?"

"No bones," she whispered. "No bones at all. Jiggles when you eat it. Pliable, limp as a wet dishrag."

_Jiggles when you eat..._ Guy had a hard time shaking that visual off.

For a time, there was nothing, save the movement of strong fingers manipulating muscles of a tense, tight back, the man doing everything in his power to keep his mind off the sweetness between his legs.

_She is drooping, barely lucid. Turn her over. She would not put up a-_

"Guy?"

_Control. Must maintain control._

"Hmmm?"

"Can I be nosy?"

The knight didn't stop his ministrations, instead concentrating on the movement of his fingers and the subtle gyration of her skin. "You may ask. It does not mean I will answer."

"Fair enough." She sounded rather tired, completely unwound. "When you said you have become more demanding in your bed partners, what exactly did you mean?"

He was silent for so long, Genevieve thought he decided not to answer. She fell back into that blissful state of almost unawareness.

"I no longer desire or enjoy temporary dalliances."

"Ah. So no more one night stands for Sir Guy." She waited for him to continue, elaborate, but when he did not, she inhaled. "How old are you, Guy?"

"Six and thirty." His thumbs pressed deeply, shoving the air from her lungs. "I have been told it is discourteous and boorish to ask a woman her age, yet a woman may ask a man his. I consider this unfair."

"I'm thirty-five," she responded with a snicker. "So if you wish a permanent bed partner, why don't you just get married?"

The fingers stopped.

If she could have banged her head against a brick wall for her seemingly uncaring and cold comment, she would have. "I'm sorry. That was callous and unthinking of me."

The fingers resumed. "It is an honest question. You are correct; I should get married. I have land, title, wealth which I expect to increase and I am very much in need of an heir." The fingers splayed out, reaching to her sides, sensitive to if she was ticklish. "For many years, I have been focused on regaining what was mine, something that would entice a woman of standing. Now that I have it..." his voice trailed off.

"Forgive me, but my history is vague. If you are titled, have wealth, surely you can arrange a political match?"

He snorted. "A political arrangement," he snorted derisively. "I suppose it is safe to assume, that is not done in your time."

She was quiet for a moment. "In my culture, no. It's not done. There are women who would be considered gold-diggers."

"A wot?"

Genevieve was slipping closer and closer into a dreamy state. "A gold-digger. A woman who simply marries for money. It's considered cold and callous. Most prefer to marry for love."

"Here, political matches are considered good business, necessary. It strengthens ties and alliances between families and property." He was quiet as he seemingly focused on his task. "Love is not a requirement." His thumbs continued to press, but even to Genevieve's dulled senses, the man sounded deeply distressed at the thought of not loving his future bride. Before she could question him further, he rumbled on. "Chances are, when things settle down, I will do that; arrange a marriage." For some odd reason, the statement made Genevieve green with jealousy. "However, as it stands, I am a Black Knight and most landed fathers will not consider a match with me until John is king."

"Why is that?" Her voice was getting softer and softer. By this time, Guy had mentally wandered off into his own corner of the world, a dark and bleak place.

"John is simply Richard's regent. England's so-called king has only stepped foot on England's soil once before he ran off to fight Rome's war with the Turks, taking as much of England's coffers with him as he could pack when he left. We are revenue to him and nothing more." He snorted. "He does not even speak our language. We are nothing to him, but money."

Again there was a long, drawn-out silence.

"You didn't answer my question. What does being a Black Knight mean and why do you have to wait until John is king?"

Truthfully, Genevieve didn't want to hear the answer, but she was starting to simply love the sound of his voice.

"As a Black Knight, I have openly thrown my lot and support in with Prince John. His father Henry made it clear he wished for John to be King of England, however their mother, Eleanor of Aquitaine, made sure her favorite - Richard,Cœur de Lion , became king. If Richard survives this war, he could return home and have all of our heads. He could pardon John; he could pardon the knights and lords who have sided with John. He could decide he wishes to reward those who supported him in the Holy Lands, take the Black Knights and Brotherhood's holdings to reward them with, dispossess and behead us all." For not the first time, he had a strange premonition, of him kneeling in front of a chunk of wood, his sister sitting in the sheriff's chair in Nottingham, demanding his execution.

_But that cannot be right. Isabella hated him, but not enough to kill him. Besides, who in their right mind would make a woman sheriff?_

"Needless to say," he rushed on, attempting to erase the thought, "no father would align himself through marriage with such as me until such is decided, regardless of how annoying the chit is."

"So, why have you made such a bold and open statement?"

He thought for a moment. "Because, in order to achieve one's goals, one must be bold." Those wonderful fingers pressed upwards; Genevieve could have sworn she heard her back pop. "I am ambitious. By openly supporting John, I stand to gain much more power and prestige than I would by sitting by and allowing Richard to bleed this country you own your own business, as you claim, I would think you would be a very bold woman and would understand."

Genevieve turned on her side, Guy's hands now splayed about her waistline, the long digits stroking the soft curve of her abdomen. "If Richard returns, what will you do? Beg for a pardon? Mercy?"

He had been waiting for that question. It was one he had not pondered on; instead he had made that decision soon after he aligned himself with the prince and Vaisey's Black Brotherhood. "I will beg for nothing. If Richard returns to the shores of England, I will gather as much gold and silver as I can carry and leave this cursed island."

Besides, after two failed attempts on Richard's life, Guy's life was forfeit, if the king returned to England and he knew it. He could have gotten away with the first attempt, but no doubt the man overheard Guy's argument with Marian, as well as his obvious intent to kill England's monarch and would not pardon the knight for any reason. Nothing and no one could or would save him from Richard's ax man. Nor would Hood allow it. The man would kill him himself!

And strangely enough, after months of truly desiring to die, battling demons in his sleep and now on occasion, waking hours, Guy at this moment wanted to live! He would never forgive himself for taking Marian's life, but by God-

"And go where?"

Physically, she was becoming a distraction. He was beyond hard, aching, and he suspected she realized it. He flipped her back on her stomach and returned to work on her spine. He poured more oil and began to knead it into her skin. "France."

"Ah. Your mother was from there. You have family who would help you."

His hands stopped. "My mother had family, yes, but they are no family to me." Genevieve could hear the gritty, underlying anger in his voice, an overly-sensitive razor-sharp edge, for a long, never healed hurt. Something happened, something bad, and she didn't have the nerve to dig deeper. What a wretched childhood this man must have had. Suddenly, Guy's private, little glen became much more precious to her. "I do have...friends." His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "Friends I pray have not forgotten me. I could start again."

_Without Vaisey and his schemes. I could begin honestly, like my father did. I could do it honestly._

_But I thought I was doing it honestly._

He swallowed once, hard enough for Genevieve to have heard, had she been lucid. "I would purchase a home, in the south of France, perhaps Province or more likely, in Languedoc; buy some property." His mouth twitched upwards in semblance of a smile. "Grow grapes. Make wine. Never lift a sword again; only wine bottles."

Genevieve was so relaxed, she almost felt as if she had drank several bottles of Guy's intoxicating, imaginary wine. "No more training guards, only watching beautiful young women with their skirts hiked up, stomping on grapes."

"You know," Guy's voice was almost jovial, "I had never thought or considered that." He slid off her legs and stretched out next to her, his head propped up on his hand. "Perhaps I will not marry at all; simply swive my wine-girls." With his free hand, he reached over and tucked her hair behind her ear, a long oil-slick finger caressing her cheek.

"I thought you were tired of temporary dalliances."

"True, but if they are rotated, much like a Sultan's harem..."

"GUY!" Her head rose from the pillow.

Guy continued as if she had not said a word. "Then again, it would be like having many wives. I think one would be enough." He shrugged. "Truly, I have no idea how the Arabs manage more than one." He appeared to think deeply. "The thought exhausts me." He now looked at her, his pupils so dilated, they appeared to be black. "What think you?"

Genevieve shook her head before dropping it with a thud back on the pillow. "I think you have a glorious sense of humor that you don't let out very often, which is a shame."

Now Guy did smile, a beautiful thing, although she missed it, before patting her on the butt and rising from the bed. "Moist heat, aye?"

"Mmm mmmmm." The response was greatly muffled by the pillow.

The cloth he left on the screen was quite warm and he picked it up by his fingertips. "This is very hot. Are you sure?"

"Mmmst mmmmph mmmmt."

"Come again?" He had returned to the bed.

Genevieve lifted up just enough. "Just do it."

Guy shrugged. "If you insist." Folding it length-wise, he laid the searing, wet cloth across the small of her back.

She didn't budge. "Oh God," she moaned. "That feels so good."

"I must admit, that I now understand why you were laughing so much earlier."

"Hmmm?"

"My clothing looks ridiculous on you." Guy leaned over to retuck her shirt back up when something caught his eye.

_Not again..._

Taking a taper from the fireplace, he sat down on the bed, unmindful of Genevieve's semi-pain-killer-induced haze. He inspected her left side, horrified at what he was seeing. "Genevieve?"

"Mmmm mmmm?"

"I believe you told me Robin Hood did not harm you."

"No. He didn't. Hedidn'ttouchme."

Grasping the tie-waist of her - _his_ - pants, he yanked them down, exposing the generous curve of her hip.

"HEY!" She shot up.

Guy shoved the candle in her face. "Hold this."

"NO! What are you doing?" Guy was pulling harder, attempting to bare her entire hip. She grabbed the waistband and attempted to pull it up.

Guy was paying no attention that he was disrobing her; much less that he was baring her to the air. What he was seeing was disturbing.

_Bruises. Black, blue, and yellow bruises._

Turning the waistband loose, he went to her pant leg and pulled it up.

_More bruises._

He started to grasp the bottoms, yank them from her to get a better view, but she was now smacking his hands.

"Woman! Look at your side!" This seemed to stop her for the time being.

"Oh my God." Now she was twisting, turning, attempting to look herself. She pulled up on the shirt, inspecting her side. "They look awful!" She then rebared the hip she had fought to keep covered. "How did that happen?"

Guy rose from the bed to put the now blown-out candle on the fireplace mantel. "I hoped you could tell me. You said Robin did not touch you." He snapped his fingers. "Allan A-Dale-"

"If you mean the man who took my necklace, I was on the ground already - sitting," she clarified when she saw Guy's furious, black look. "We rolled, but not enough to do this!"

Guy returned to the bed, leaning up against a post and crossing his feet at the ankle up on the bed. "Was there anyone else?"

"Well," Genevieve was trying to remember, "there was this woman who attacked me-"

"Wot! Kate attacked you?" He sat up, infuriated.

"Is that her name?" Genevieve asked sullenly. "Now, there's a bar bitch if I've ever met one! I'm certain Robin sent her into the thicket to grab me, but I wasn't going without a fight."

Guy had his finger in the air. "Wait. You and Kate in a thicket. What exactly happened for you and Michael to become captured?" With his bath and dinner, Guy had not had a chance to interrogate his armsman and in fact had decided to do it on the way to Nottingham in the morning, while he decided how he was going to punish the guard. He liked Michael; the man was an above decent shot with a bow and he was congenial, followed orders without complaint.

"We were racing." Genevieve was now in the process of sitting up, trying to keep the compress on her back. She backed up into the headboard of the bed. "Somehow, Michael became unhorsed and when I realized it, I heard him tell me to run. Then there was a loud 'thump'."

"Why did you not run?" If Michael told her to run and she did not, she would be in much trouble as well.

"Run where?" Her voice was incredulous. "I had no idea where I was, where I was going. The man set to guard and watch over me was behind me, sidelined by who knows who. I can just imagine me showing up in a strange village, where I knew no one, dressed in my jeans and a tunic. The people of Locksley might be used to my wild clothing, but I imagine if I tore into a new town dressed that way, they would have accused me of being a witch."

"Considering the road you were on, you would have ridden straight into Nottingham. The sheriff," he sneered, "would have had a field day and by the time I was notified and came to retrieve you, either he or my sister would have pressed you up the wall." The sneer turned in to a smirk. "Truthfully, at first I feared for you if you fell in their clutches. Now, I fear for them. Continue."

She told him about dismounting, circling back through the thicket, with both horses. She noticed his smile of approval when she told him of Kate trying to subdue her and not expecting the fight Genevieve put up.

"You gave her a black eye? You are sure?"

"Yes."

"Good girl." Guy decided at that point, Genevieve had earned a reward. Question was - what KIND of reward?

"Either way, we must have been making some serious racket; I swear that woman fights like a girl! Next thing I knew, a giant black man in a friar's robe has me in one hand and that woman in the other and literally hauls us into the open!" She repositioned her back, clearly uncomfortable.

"That would be Friar Tuck. He has traveled supposedly through many lands. He is considered very learned. " He draped his arms over his pulled-up knees. "Do not tell a soul, but Vaisey is terrified of him. Thinks he is a sorcerer. I think, he is simply erudite of knowledge not thought of here in Western Europe."

A jolt of memory flashed in Genevieve's tired and drugged mind, a snippet of a lecture from a history class fifteen years before. The professor, probably older than Methuselah, was droning on and on about how 'behind' Western Europe was in comparison to the Turks, the Byzantines and even China. To the best of her recollection, the professor seemed to believe that the reason for such was the lack of education for the vast majority of the population. To the best of her recollection, he considered Asia and Africa more enlightened.

"Regardless," Genevieve continued, "I suppose in the ruckus, Kate did this. Strange," she murmured, "I don't recall her giving me this bad of a beating. I think I would have won had the good friar not interrupted us."

Guy wanted to believe her. He wanted a rational explanation to the bruising, however...

"You don't think that is how I got these, do you?"

Guy had to shake his head. "No. Truth is, they are similar to what was on your arm the night before last. If they are related, the bruising should be gone in the morning. I would like to know what causes them." In the low light, he looked up, his visage dark. "It is worrisome."

The two sat in companionable silence for a short time, each ruminating on their own thoughts. It was a comfortable stillness, amiable...

"Thank you for the backrub." Her voice rose from the darkness. "Someone taught you well."

Guy reached forward, taking her by the ankle and pulled her down the bed. "My sister and I were alone in the world for some time. Her back would ache as well and we discovered me rubbing it helped."

_Not to mention the fine tutelage of several... ladies... Lady Aedyth..._

"You and she were close once."

"Once." He now had her in perfect position. Lifting up, he straddled her again. "We only had each other." Gently, he settled over her lap. Long fingers splayed over her cheeks, cupping her face into the immense size of his hands. She was focused on his mouth.

"I always wanted brothers and sisters. It... didn't happen."

"Why not?"

"I..." she was watching as his mouth moved closer and closer. "my... grandmother raised me."

"Why?" It was a whisper, his breath, and the gentle scent of the wine he drank earlier in the evening, floated in the air between them. "Did something happen to your parents?"

She gave him the safest answer. "Yes."

"I am sorry."

It was the last coherent thought she had for a while, for at that moment, he closed the gap and descended on her much as he had before.

Again, there was the fleeting vision of butterflies as he explored her, her mouth. For a short time, he kept his tongue to himself, choosing to taste her, explore the tip of her cupid's bow, her upper lip. It wasn't until she groaned in frustration that he opened up, tipped her back and covered her fully on the bed.

Their mouths never lost contact, as he stretched her across the mattress. Once more, she was fully aware of his physical size and prowess. Her legs parted on their own volition, cradling him within the heated juncture.

For some time, they lay, cocooned in each other, tasting, exploring. Genevieve was frantic, her hands dancing, cupping the curve…

"Genevieve." Guy's voice was breathless and he pulled back.

"Noooo." She pulled him back to her.

Angry, at himself, for allowing this to happen, allowing it to get this far, he pulled her hands from his neck and pinned them to the bed. "Genevieve. We cannot start what we cannot finish-"

"But you've started it."

"Aye, I have. And I am sorry. But I do not wish a mess and when I take you, I want to taste all of you, not specific pieces." He dipped, his mouth encircling her ear. "And yes, my lady, I will have you and I would have you come to my bed willingly." For a moment, darkness in his soul descended, the memory of Marian pushing him away how many times…

_I am not a debaser of women._

"Do I seem unwilling?"

He pushed himself up and off the bed, cruelly hoping she was as uncomfortable as he was.

"Here. Take the cloth." Genevieve pulled the wet make-shift heating pad from her back and handed it to him. "It's cold and icky now." She was obviously frustrated and peevish.

As he took the cloth, he realized that in addition, she was sluggish and her eyes were heavy. Most likely, a good thing he was able to exercise self-control. No doubt, she would be as limp as the cloth he took from her and slung to the table next to the washbasin. He restoked the fire before leaving, watching as she wrapped herself under the covers.

She was asleep by the time he closed the door.

~~~…~~~

Guy leaned against the fireplace, the fire low, with an almost empty bottle of wine on the mantle. Despite his downing of the majority of the drink, he still remained hard and insistent, so he stood, clothed in nothing but his tunic, slowly massaging a painfully hardened member and hoping that rather than dribble drunkenly down his hand and leg, making a wretched mess, he could shoot a decent wad into the flames.

_I played these games as a teenager! __Where is my pride? I am too old for this!_

Realizing he would never finish unless he let his mind wander towards carnal pursuits, he leaned forward, resting his forehead on his arm, which was propped on the mantle, continuing to stroke, and stared into the crackling fire.

He had been a mess when he arrived in London. He fully expected John to kill him, as did Vaisey. In fact, that's why Vaisey sent him. Let John do his dirty work. Vaisey liked to keep his hands clean and let someone else do the killing. After all, was that not how Guy obtained his Master of Arms position? Once one is no longer useful to him, Vaisey moved his underlings up, killing them off with their own underlings. Guy knew this well. He himself had killed three men above him in order to promote himself. And Vaisey was fairly honest when he stated Gisborne was useless in his current state.

He was. Even Guy admitted that.

And it was why he watched his back. He often wondered which one of his own men were watching, lying in wait to do him in, to take his own spot…

But John...John was smart, much smarter than Vaisey or any of the Black Brotherhood realized. And cunning to boot. He sat on his 'throne' elevated, so as to appear taller than he was and stared at Guy with those dark eyes of his.

"Sent you to me, to make his excuses for his failings, did he?" Guy didn't answer. "The coward."

And rather than throw him in the dungeon, John sat him at the High Table next to Lady Aedyth, a mature woman in her late forties with the ability to make sparkling small talk that kept the Black Knight occupied and not looking like a bumpkin while at the same time, filling him in on court intrigues and gossip.

Guy did not like court intrigues. He was learning to appreciate his own estate in the country, but at times, one must do what one had to do and he was rather fond of his head being attached to his neck.

So, he paid attention…

…to the fact that John was an adept manipulator…

…that John was also an able tactician and well versed in politics…

…that John would be an _English_ king, unlike Richard…

…that John was aware that there were those who would attempt to use him as a puppet…

…and he had plans; ugly, unforgiving plans for them…

…to the fact that Lady Aedyth leaned very close when she whispered in his ear…

…and her dress was cut very, very low.

Many times since that first night, he scolded himself for giving in to base desires, for using Aedyth for his own fleshly pursuits, for relieving his earthly hunger on her, for using her in attempt to forget Marian.

He also chided himself for allowing Aedyth to use him in equal fashion, for allowing her to manipulate him, use his body, for her own wanton requirements. One thing he had never done before her, regardless of his need, was to lay with a married woman. As crass and as lusty as he was, he had strong opinions about promises made before God, and to break them was to court damnation. Rather than pursue Guy, or any other man, she should concentrate on being…

_A good wife…_

Guy tightened his grip, stroking longer…firmer.

But she was persistent; knew how to get what she wanted and Guy learned more under her tutelage than Vaisey ever would teach him.

The last night they were together, Aedyth taught him a lesson he would never forget…one that he would actually in a strange way, come to cherish…

~~~…~~~

_Aedyth liked to play games. Naughty, naughty games._

"_You don't like this, do you darling?"_

_Guy shook his head. He was sweating; the heat from the fireplace was almost intolerable. "No."_

_Aedyth had him tied spread eagle on the bed. He was wearing nothing but his shirt, while she was in a thin, hand-embroidered chemise; so thin, her dark nipples showed through. She had oiled her hand and was stroking him into oblivion._

"_No, you wouldn't. You're too domineering, like to be in charge and right now, all the control is wrested from you__. I imagine your mind is working trying to figure out how to get out you of this little predicament."__ He jerked, close to release. "No_ _no_ _no. You are not allowed to finish. Not yet." She lifted her hand, abandoning his prick and moving upwards to taunt his nipples. "Someday soon, you will feel the need to marry, take a bride, whether you wish it or not. You need heirs, my love and plenty of them." She continued to taunt, now tracing back down to his navel and finding the thin trail of hair from his abdomen to his groin. Teasing him, tickling him about his thighs. "I have heard the rumors; you love a dead woman. That is all well and good, but she cannot give you what you need, save heartache and unrequited fantasy. You have reached the bottom, my sweet. Push off hard and rise to the top, over these wretched mortals who would be your betters."_

_Again, she grasped him, pulling firmly. "When you look for a bride, find __one not so__ young and biddable. Hopefully," she was not looking at him, but away, staring into the fire, and Guy thought he saw a tear, "you will fall in love with her or at the very least care for her. Value her, my pet and treat her like a princess, even if she is not one. She should not be a total imbecile. Find an intelligent, independent woman, who will beg for your attention when the bedroom door is closed. Dote on her, make her pleasure your own, so she will become yours and yours alone and will never wish to leave your side. Believe me," Aedyth continued in a whisper, "if you find a compassionate woman, your pleasure will be just as important to her, if not more so, if you strive that she reaches her peak every time."_

_He started to snap at her. He was not and had never been an inconsiderate lover! Instead…"Is that…" he caught his breath, resisting the urge to spill too soon, "why you have strayed? Your husband does not give you pleasure?"_

_He received a smart smack on his thigh. "You know the rules, my darling. Do not ask of me. I have not and will not ever ask of you." Her fingers now delved beneath his sack, slick fingers sliding to places-_

"_No!" He clenched, tried to move away from her. "Some things, you are to leave be."_

_Aedyth made a moue. "And if I do not?"_

_Guy glared at her with all the fury he had. "You have to untie me, sometime."_

_She shrugged. "I do not have to. I can leave you here for the chambermaids to find."_

"_And I will surely find you and you will not like it. I will not care the consequences of wringing your neck."_

_For a moment, Aedyth honestly looked terrified. She knew his threat was not an empty one. Rumor had it he had killed the woman he loved in a jealous rage. Smiling, she returned to stroking him. "It is not so much fun to play with anyway. I just wanted to see you squirm." It was quiet for some minutes, while she ministered to him, bringing him back to peak._

"_Remember this - this is how your bride will feel, how your submissive will think. How do I please you if I cannot touch you? Will you cease when you do something that makes her uncomfortable or passes her limits? You, too, should learn control because her pleasure is your responsibility. While you will teach her to respond at your command, by the sound of your voice, to come to completion at your behest, so must you exert self-control over yourself. Even if you are spent, her joy is still your responsibility and even a loving and loyal submissive will become disenchanted if she is left wanting time and time and time again. Their eye will wander."_

"_Much like yours has wandered."_

_Her strokes became faster, firmer, almost painful. "You are too belligerent for your own good." Before much longer, Guy's hips began to jerk involuntarily. His growl of release was audible through the apartment and into the hall, had anyone been there, the heat of his seed spraying over her hand and onto his abdomen._

_Before he finished, the woman inhaled him, suckled up his essence like a starving urchin, and then continuing up his stomach, cleaning him, much like a cat over spilt milk. When there was nothing left, she untied him and lifted herself from the bed._

"_Get dressed, my sweet, and leave. Do not come back."_

"_I am being dismissed? So easily?" Not even dressed and she was treating him away like_ _a dog begging for table scraps.__ "Because I will not allow you to play with what you have me plunder?"_

_Aedyth was leaving the bedroom and floating into the sitting area. Something about the set of her shoulders however, was not right. She stopped in the doorway, her back to him. "My husband returns from the Holy Land and I need to be home to greet him. My maids will pack my things tomorrow and we will depart London at dawn the next __day, so I__no longer have the time to__dally with you.__ John expects his weapon to arrive within the week and you will be returning with it to Nottingham, with a great task to complete. He has great faith in you__. So do I and I expect you will do well."_

_With that, she glided into the sitting area._

_Guy sat up, rubbing his wrists and began to reach for his trousers, when something she said earlier came back. Rising from the bed, he walked nude into the sitting area, Aedyth now working on a piece of embroidery. Kneeling in front of her, he removed the material from her hands. "And what kind of lover would I be if I left you wanting?"_

_In the firelight, he could see tears… tears?... in her eyes. She leaned over and caressed his jaw. "Guy. Please understand me. I love my husband. I truly do. And he loves me. 'Tis a rare thing anymore, for two people of our standing to fall in love and marry and stay in love. He has given me beautiful children and treats me well. However," with this her face fell, "before he went to the Holy Lands, he befell an accident and has been unable to perform his husbandly duties. He did not go to the Holy Land to fight with Richard. He went to find a cure. I did not think he would find one."_

"_Did he?" Guy spread her legs, gently lifting one each, over his shoulders._

"_I do not know. It would not matter."_

_One long finger cut a path through her lower lips. She was wet, wanting. "What kind of man would leave his lover wanting? I will not depart with you in this state of want."_

"_It doesn't matter, darling. I can finish myself."_

_He sniffed disdainfully. "And what did you just teach me in your bed?" He pulled her forward, blowing on her clit. "Besides, I can finish you better." And grasping her thighs firmly with his hands, he buried his mouth around her, tipping her backwards and sucking until…_

~~~…~~~

In Guy's mind, the woman he was pleasuring changed. Where Aedyth was tall, his fantasy lover shrank, barely coming to his chest if they stood. Curves became more pronounced, breasts firmer, thighs fleshier. Long blonde hair turned into a bobbed dark…

~~~…~~~

"Oh… _Ggggggggguuuuod_!"

He jerked… once… twice… spurting an admirable distance into the fire, not that he noticed. He was too busy now fantasizing about a beautiful brunette, squirming beneath him...

Clawing at his back…

He cried out once.

"_Genevieve."_

**_~~~…~~~_**

**_Better bring your friend along_**

**_~~~…~~~_**

**A/N – thank you for putting up with the crazy posting. Sadly while my computer was finally returned last week, it was not returned in working order and I've had to send it BACK. Last I checked, it was taking the scenic route to California and by the time the ordeal is over, it will have seen more places than I have. At this point, I don't expect to have it back for 2 to 3 weeks.**


	13. 12 - way

_**Manna from Heaven**_

_**Chapter 12**_

_**...way...**_

_He wandered the desert. _

_Sand. Endless sand. Why anyone would want to live here was beyond him._

_An arrow whizzed past his ear. The Knight was so deep in his doldrums, he turned and spread his arms. "Wot? Yer aim is that off?" He continued to back up. "I thought you were a better shot than that!"_

_Rather than hear the anticipated response, he heard giggling. Giggling. A female's giggling. Squinting in the sun, he watched as a diminutive woman skipped along the dune, kicking up sand, laughing at the spray. _

_"You know, darling," Aedyth was standing next to him, naked, save jewelry dripping from her nipples. "I am not jealous of her. Your time does not burden her. But," __she tapped his arm, "her time will be a heavy weight on her shoulders. Remember__ what I told you. Do not mourn what you cannot have. Enjoy."_

_"But-"_

_"You cannot fix the past, my sweet." Aedyth was now fading. "All you can do is move forward and try to do a better job living your life."_

_"But-"_

_"Be a better man, Guy." He jerked, to see Marian standing at his other elbow__. She was clothed in transparent white, the torso stained red with blood.__ "Be the man I know you can be, the one I know you truly are." He felt her touch his elbow. "Be that man. Let me go."_

_"I killed you." It was wrung from him, a painful, painful admission._

_"Become a better man, Guy. Do it for me." Marian flung her arm, pointing at the tiny woman, dancing on the dune. "You are a knight! Remember your creed, your oath!__Protect the innocent, the defenseless, and the helpless poor. I am none of these. I do not need your protection! Let me go."_

_She faded away while he stared at the woman heedless of her surroundings._

_Protect the innocent..._

_Protect the innocent..._

_Protect __the defenseless..._

_...the defenseless..._

_...the defenseless..._

_She is defenseless..._

_~~~...~~~_

Too many times, Guy was up in the night, listening. More than once, he rose from the bed to check on Genevieve, only to fling himself back to the mattress. What little sleep he got was fitful, humid, dream-filled.

He decided he hated sand.

Finally, the cock crowed and he quietly made his way over to her room. Creeping in silence, he stole in the doorway, snarling at the two dead mice in the floor. He did away with them, taking great care to not wake her or disturb the kittens. The room was cold and he stirred the fireplace, casting a soft glow about the room.

Guy wanted to check her side, her hip, to see if there was still bruising, but when he leaned over the bed, he saw that she was cocooned in the quilts and shivering.

_'Tis not that cold!_

There was a stirring downstairs, so he left, wondering why he was concerned the servants would find him in her room. She would be in his bed soon enough and he could care less what they thought. He slipped out of her chambers as noiseless as he had come in.

For not the first time, he felt conflict, guilt, over wanting to bed her, to openly make her his. He had wanted Marian; wanted her badly, but he had been content to wait for their wedding day. She was a virgin, a maid, and he fantasized taking her that first time.

_Teasing her... opening her like a flower and introducing her to every sensual delight he could think possibly of._

Genevieve, on the other hand, was admittedly no innocent maid, her virginity tossed and given to God knows who and who knew when. At times, her language was earthy and she insinuated a desire to experiment. She had...toys. Who in this day and age had adult toys? One needed toys for that sort of thing? She embraced her sexuality much like a man did. He was NOT content to wait for marriage; in fact was unsure if marriage was the correct path for them, if plausible at all. If she were truly from another time, the two of them had no future! She could be jerked from his life at any time. If he were a true gentleman, a true pious, (HA!) or virtuous knight, he would leave her be. To continue to refuse to do so would be no more than treating her as a whore.

And yet, she was no whore... no slattern.

And why was Marian telling him she was defenseless? Who did Genevieve need protection from?

_Ficklebutte? Lamar? Who is this Lamar person anyway and why does she curse him in her sleep?_

_What did he do to her?_

In the depths of his musings, he realized he stood outside her door again, one of his quilts in hand. Again, he crept into the room and approaching the bed, gently laid the quilt over her. For some odd reason, he felt the need to tuck it around her, smirking at her child-like snuggling in.

"Thank you." It was a murmur, barely audible.

"You are welcome," he whispered back.

~~~...~~~

Despite Guy's ministrations, self-control, and gentle, tender romancing the night before, and yes, he knew last eve was long, tender manipulative foreplay; Genevieve came to breakfast in the foulest of moods. The air was chill and the knight was at a loss as if it were the weather or the woman. She huddled in her chair, glaring at the fireplace, at Godric, who ducked his head and stepped backwards, into the shadows.

Guy had forgotten the sudden mood swings a woman would get during her time of the month. For the most part, Isabella simply cried, was completely useless for one to two days. Marian? Marian was push-offish anyway. Genevieve, on the other hand, was down right nasty. It made the man want to rush off to Nottingham... no. Send _her_ to Nottingham and unleash her on Vaisey.

"Did you sleep well?"

"Yes." It was clipped, curt. At least she wasn't yelling.

"The bruising-"

"Gone," Genevieve snarled. She had a link of sausage speared on her eating knife and was glowering at it as if it were the last living enemy on a battlefield and she had it surrounded.

"So pleased to hear that." It was a murmur, spoken under his breath. "Are you equally dreadful and spiteful to your precious peasants during your woman's time?"

Genevieve's vile attention pinned him for a moment. Staring at him with all the malevolence she could muster, she thrust the knife in her mouth, her teeth scrapping the dull metal blade. Chewing with the fury of a storm, she swallowed harshly before taking a breath. "I'm sorry. Right now, I hate everyone and I shouldn't be taking it out on you or anyone else." She sighed. "Especially after last night, which was wonderful, thank you very much."

"Perhaps I should turn you lose in Sherwood. You might rid me of Hood."

Genevieve's knuckles were white wrapped around her eating utensil. "Hood, that bar bitch, and the rat ba-a-asssss-" she saw the staff staring at her in horror. "-sssssssssorry."

Guy stood up, a faint smile on his face. "I would suggest that whatever does not kill you should perhaps start running." Genevieve was snarling at her bread and nodding affirmatively. He jerked his head towards Thornton and made his way to the door, grabbing his mailed vest and pulling it on. "Whatever it was you gave her last night, give her plenty of it today."

"Yes, Sir Guy."

Having gotten into the heavy vest, the knight began to buckle up the fastenings. Joffrey had joined them. "She is not to go riding. It would be best for all if she simply stayed in today. Tie her to my bed if she tries." He inwardly smirked at the look on Joffrey's face. Thornton however, took the comment in stride. He looked over Thornton's shoulder. "Genevieve. You are not to ride until I get home."

She waved at him, not looking.

Guy started to threaten her with dire consequences if she disobeyed, but decided that perhaps her excursion and run-in with Hood the day before would curtail her wanderings and force her to think twice.

Then again, considering her mood and her delicate condition, she would conceivably be satisfied to stay indoors this day. With that in mind, he left the hall to saddle his horse.

Genevieve took several more bites, before abandoning her plate. She gave a half-hearted smile when Thornton sat a pewter goblet in front of her. "Would that, by chance, be the same stuff you gave me yesterday evening?"

"That it would, Lady Genevieve."

"Good." She finally raised her eyes to the gentle visage of the man. "Keep me in it." She again waved the air in front of her. "I'm heading to my room and plan to stay there today."

"Sir Guy suggested that would most likely be for the best."

"I'll bet," she snarled. She rose from her chair, bringing the chalice with her.

"Shall I send someone up to restoke your fire in the hearth?"

"Yes." She turned and headed towards the stairs. "And bring a rag or a broom so we can dispense with the mouse carcasses."

"The cat is doing her job, Lady Genevieve?"

"Very well." She tripped on her dress rising to the first step, before remembering to lift it. "Does she have a name?"

"Name a cat? Whatever for?"

Genevieve stopped for a moment, before shaking her head. "Fine. Her name is Tabby."

"As you wish." _Damn, the man was just the most agreeable human being on the earth. Too bad he was 900 years ahead of my time. He'd be perfect for Grandma!_

Joffrey followed up behind her, reviving and raising the fire in the fireplace, rewarming the room. He speculated that the day should warm up somewhat later in the day, before leaving her in peace. As soon as his footfalls went back down the stairs, Genevieve grabbed her bag and pulled the iPad out.

"Yes!" she whispered as the screen lit up after she pressed the power button. Laying it aside, she grabbed her notebook, flipping to the 'translation' Guy had painstakingly written out two days past. She then worked her way to the original on her iPad.

Sure enough, much to her dismay...

_Upon completion of sale, seller agrees to abstain from competition with Buyer within the business in North America, Latin America and Europe for thirty years. To ensure absence of conflict of interest, Seller will not employ, become employed by or consult with any other firm... Seller will not create a new firm; Seller will not employ any former employee for thirty years. Seller will not establish new contacts nor will seller hire out or consult. Seller will not establish new clients for any architectural purpose...Seller will abandon contacts... _

DAMN! What am I supposed to do for the rest of my life? Work at a Quik Trip? For thirty years? Or move to Asia or South America. Oh that's ripe!

Out of ire, she grabbed her sketchpad, flipping to the page where she had begun work on the Strandage-Couch offer. If she signed this contract and took the money, she could throw this out the window. This was a death knell if she accepted it. By the time the allotted time was up, she would be so old and things... would have changed. No one would hire her because her skills would be...

_Rusty. Out of date. _

She returned to the contract. There was more that Guy hadn't gotten to. What she saw made her retch.

_Regarding education and skills, seller will not seek higher or continuing education-_

_**WHAT?**_

_-nor will seller seek employment within the university level in this field._

In the back of her head, a small worry knot began, signally the beginning of a headache. Without thinking, she popped open the Tylenol, not noticing that the two she had taken the night before had mysteriously replaced themselves and downed them with the doctored, watered wine.

_It's like they don't just want my business... they want me out of the business. Permanently. They don't want me keeping up with the newest gadgets, the newest ideas, much less teaching... how... restrictive can you get? _

Regardless, she was quite certain that legally, Ficklebutt couldn't demand she completely abandon her chosen profession, nor could they insist she not work in half the global world, much less demand she not seek to keep her skills up, or teach? What did a professor make anyway? No judge would allow that, would they?

The need to hire a new attorney immediately was necessary and grabbing a pencil, she began a new bullet list, with that being the first thing.

_Val. I need to talk to Val... She can start that process while I'm here... laid up. Oh, I need to sleep and dream right this very second! _

So infuriated, she knew that continuing would probably only make her see red, as well as more than likely continuing in this same vein would cause her to swear the thatch off the roof. She didn't think she wanted a second trip to the small chapel with the priest whose eyes seemed to be a different color every time he moved. Besides, he might make her gargle in holy water this time... she had no idea how to recite a Hail Mary.

The room was warming up and suddenly, Genevieve had the urge, the desire to pull on Guy's old comfy clothes, crawl back under the quilts and ... and...

There were books on her iPad.

_YES!_

Quickly, she pulled her dress off and tossed on the shirt she'd slept in the night before. She didn't bother with the ties and ignored the pants. Picking up the iPad, she moved to the book section. She had recently downloaded the newest Paul Christopher's Templar series, as well as the more recent Alex Archer... now where are they?

She moved the table of contents back and forth several times, her happiness and the thought of crawling in bed to read quickly diminishing. There were books but they weren't... her books. She began to look closely.

_A Knight's Caress?_ What the...

_Evie's Knight, A Knight's Persuasion, Only in her Dreams, Seducing the Knight, Sword of the Raven, Oh Geez.., Wild Viking…WHAT? Wild Viking Princess - is that for real? A Man of Value, Warrior's Bride, Passion in the Blood, Conquering Passion, A Lady in White, The Vengeful Knight..._

"VAL!" Genevieve had pretty much reached the end of her rope. She looked into the rafters and shook her iPad at them, as if addressing the heavens. "Is this your idea of a joke? Bad enough this damned contract is in a foreign language, you've replaced my books with tawdry historical medievalish romances! Knights in shining armor? I've not read this kind of nonsense since I was a young and susceptible and mooning over Mickey… oh what was his name?!" She snarled, slamming her iPad on the bed and continued to growl. "I know what you're trying to do and I'm not buying it! This isn't going to do and you need to leave my books alone! This is so not funny!"

"What is not funny?"

Genevieve spun in horror, to see That Man leaning against the door post, arms crossed and looking... well, looking like a satisfied cat. "What?"

"What is not funny?" he repeated.

Genevieve's jaw bounced up and down for some seconds before looking down and spying yet another dead mouse on the floor. "That!" She thrust her finger towards the little furry corpse. "That is simply not funny."

Pushing from the doorway, Guy pulled his gloves from his belt and pulled them on. He sauntered across the room, his spurs clanging softly across the wood, picked the thing up by the tail and proceeded to toss it out the window. He closed the shutters and latched them before turning to face her. "How tawdry is it?"

Genevieve managed to get some sort of control over herself. "What are you doing back? I thought you left?"

"I was in such a hurry to leave your wretched company, I forgot my gloves. I retrieved them." He began to pull at his earlobe. "Somehow, I do not believe you were talking about the dead mouse." He raised his eyebrows in question. "Who is Val, what is she trying to do and how tawdry is it?" He stepped back into the doorway and pushed the door behind him to a close. Genevieve's jaw was still flapping uselessly, no sound coming out. He cupped the shell of his ear. "I cannot hear you, but perhaps, that is a blessing?" That caused her to growl, so he stepped back and put his hand on the door handle. "If it is your desire that I not go to Nottingham today, continue to dress that way." His mouth lifted in a half-smirk when she self-consciously began to yank down on the shirt. "Enjoy your tawdry…not funny thing…." he left the sentence hanging, breaking out in a low chuckle as he went down the hallway.

She listened silently as his bootfalls echoed down the steps and she supposed through the door. After a minute, she heard hoofbeats from several horses move away from the hall and from the hamlet.

It took a moment for her heartbeat to slow to a normal pace.

_How embarrassing!_

But not so embarrassed that she abandoned her precious reading. With a sigh, she crawled into the rumbled bed, pulled the quilts up and opened the electronic book the cursor was sitting on.

_The Vengeful Knight._

How appropriate.

~~~…~~~

The party making their way to Nottingham Castle welcomed the cooling temperatures. Sometimes Guy thought the heat of summer was truly a prelude for hell. And at times when he openly welcomed death, he was not looking forward to that fiery place of torment he was convinced he would end up for eternity.

In the quietness of the ride and cool breeze, the knight's thoughts wandered; wandered to Marian's plea.

'_Become a better man! Remember your creed, your oath!__Protect the innocent, the defenseless, and the helpless poor. I am none of these. I do not need your protection! Let me go.'_

You cannot change the past, Guy. Simply become a better man.

But how to do that? He was the Right Hand of Vaisey and Prince John's Hidden Fist. Neither position was one one was easily extradited from. In fact, the only way he saw of getting out of either was death.

And death no longer held a flame for him.

Yes, he could run, like a coward, but if he did, he would be running for the rest of his life, always looking over his shoulder.

_Remember your creed, your oath!_

_Ah yes. My Oath. Now, how did that go?_ The Black Knight's conscience this morning was in a snarky mood.

Guy thought hard. Truthfully, when he took it, he thought little of it, simply repeated the words, as did most. The Knight's Oath was simply an empty way to move forward and had ceased meaning anything to most who took it. His mind had been on regaining his lands; his title, and obtaining the power in which to keep it. That empty oath had been the first step.

A knight is sworn… But what if the oath was not meant to be empty? What if at some point, it was supposed to mean something? What if it… It took a few minutes, but it finally came back to him.

_As a knight, I am sworn to valor. May my heart know only virtue and my __blade defend the helpless. My might shall uphold the weak and my words speak only truth. May my wrath be righteous and undo the wicked._

Guy's heart stopped in his chest. He had broken each and every oath he swore on his own sword and some dead Saint's relics. Not forgotten. Broke. Irrevocably. Valor? What was the valor in being nothing more than the henchman of a power hungry madman? A heart that knows only virtue? He had taken the virtue of quite possibly one of the sweetest things to cross his path. Used her and then terrified her out of her mind. He squelched the weak with his boot; he lied to get his way…

His wrath… burned homes, slaughter…

His blade… Jesu! How many had he killed? How many innocents? He had tried to kill the king. Twice! If his father had a grave, he would be rolling in it!

_You cannot change the past. Become a better man._

But how?

"M'lord?" Suddenly, he was yanked from his inner musings, realizing the guard rode next to him. "Sir Guy?"

"Wot?" He barked at Michael the Red, harsher than he intended.

"Lady Genevieve. She is recovered from her ordeal?" For the man's bulk and size, he was an amazingly gentle giant, something their enemies would take advantage of, if they knew.

"She has recovered somewhat."

The man nodded. "Hood swears he did not rob her of her belongings."

"Of course he would say that." Guy was now focused on the surrounding woods. "The man is a thief, a liar, and an outlaw." He took a breath. "Did Genevieve truly give Kate a black eye?"

The red-headed knight grinned as big as he could. "Sure and she did." On occasion, the Irish lilt of the man's grandmother came through, someone Michael privately adored. "Lady Genevieve has spunk. She fought right up until a-Dale took her trinket." His face fell. "Then she fell to pieces."

"The cross has sentimental value to her," Guy whispered. "It is her only link to her family." He realized he was losing himself in his musings again. "Did Allan really stick his hand-"

"Aye. I was disgusted, as was the friar and Hood's manservant. He put up quite the fuss."

Guy snorted at the thought of Much's outrage. Now if anyone in that wretched gang could be referred to as a 'good' person, it was the loyal Much. Robin didn't deserve him, certainly did not deserve his loyalty.

The two men talked about things, how Hood had trapped and caught Michael and Genevieve, Guy listening carefully to Michael's side of the story. It was almost identical to Genevieve's, as he rightfully suspected. Despite what the people of town thought of Guy, his men knew him to be an honest and reliable taskmaster, earning their respect and their allegiance. He had been known to grieve senseless deaths, usually at the hand and machinations of the Sheriff and Sir Guy was known to quietly rearrange schedules so that the sheriff's guard and not _his_ did the dirty work.

"I suppose I'll be doing latrine duty this week." Michael was matter-of-fact and to the point. That he knew he had raised the ire of his superior was obvious and well deserved and he was willing to accept whatever punishment was handed down.

"Think I am that heartless?" Michael snickered at the Knight's comment, making Guy smirk. "Ah. I am that cruel, I see. Portcullis today. Lady Genevieve is quite willful. She is a difficult handful."

"But what a handful, eh?" Michael was smiling.

"I will tell your wife, if you keep this up." The half-smirk was back, as the man quickly crossed himself. "She is in the last stage of her confinement, yes?" Michael's wife was ready to present him with their fourth child.

"Aye, and as cantankerous as a woman can be." The red-headed guard grimaced. "I'll take any excuse to get out of the house. Portcullis is not so bad."

"God, man. Do not sound so jovial about it. 'Tis supposed to be punishment." Nottingham Castle came into view. The stench from the unwashed in the ditches was reaching further and further. Either that or Guy's nose was becoming more and more sensitive. He supposed he could blame Genevieve for that, as well.

With that, Sir Guy and his guards mounted the wooden causeway and entered the castle.

~~~…~~~

Vaisey was wearing the varnish from the floorboards as Guy entered the Great Hall. "Where have you been?"

Guy schooled his features, allowing the man's words to flow through him. If he showed any emotion, it would feed the older man's ego. He made his way to the sideboard, pouring himself ale. "I was not aware I was late or I needed to be any where in particular." He lifted the pewter goblet to his mouth. "Is there anything in particular you wish for me to see to today or does something else plague you?"

Before he could take a sip, Vaisey snatched the chalice from him and downed the contents, splashing some of the liquid over his hand. "The Brotherhood wants their money! John wants his money! Everyone wants money! And they think I'm made of money!" Guy poured himself another cup and thanked his Maker that the stuff wasn't poisoned. "I need a plan; something."

"A faire, perhaps."

Vaisey's finger pointed at him, for once, not in ire. "He can be taught! A splendid idea! People love faires. They spend money. A Harvest Faire. That would be a good start. We should have contests… where we win, of course."

Guy recalled a time when the Great Hall was transformed into a gambling casino and Marian dressed like a well-to-do harlot…

_Fetch!_

"Archery, jousting." Vaisey was continuing, unaware that his second-in-command's mind was wandering. "When was the last time you wanted to knock someone off their horse?"

_Every time you mount up. _

"John had a joust while I was in London," Guy admitted quietly. "I was part of the lists."

"Really?" Vaisey's eyebrows rose to his receded hairline. "How did you fare?"

"Well enough. I was not embarrassed in the least."

Guy was not about to tell him he made it to the final round and won a very nice purse in the process. More gold hidden away for that day he might have … would have to leave.

"Really and you didn't tell me?" Guy shrugged. Vaisey tapped his lip thoughtfully. "No, you've always been a tight - lipped Gizzy. You keep your secrets close." Vaisey nodded. "That's why I like you." He pounded the younger man on the arm; missing the sour look Guy shot his back, as the sheriff walked by. "We have had a lot of rain as of late; we should make a contingent plan."

"My lord, what happened to the gaming tables?"

Again, Vaisey's eyebrow shot up. "I forgot about them!" He clapped Guy on the shoulder, the knight vowing to scrub it extra hard in the bath that evening. "If we spread them out, through out the castle… set this up for two weeks…" the man's voice trailed off. "How is your leper?"

Now Guy's eyebrow went up.

"Still?" Vaisey made a face as if he smelled something wretched. "Rumor has it you are buying her clothes and giving her your last leper's clothing."

Guy knew this subject would come up and he was prepared. "She has nothing suitable and Marian's old clothes did not fit. Yes, I have had a few things made and I have given her Marian's white cloak." He swirled the last of the wine in his goblet, staring into the depths before downing it. "Marian won't miss it." Inwardly, he flinched at the callous sound of his voice, praying Vaisey didn't realize just how hard he was acting.

"I hear she's been running around Locksley in the most outlandish trousers." Isabella sauntered into the Hall, causing both men to snarl. She was leaning on the upper railing before pushing off from the banister and made her way to the floor where she poured herself some ale as well from the carafe and turned to face them both. "And riding like a banshee all over Sherwood, frightening the outlaws! I have offered to go down and keep her company; perhaps teach her some manners, but my brother will have none of it." She downed the drink and strolled over to the two men, privately amused when they both recoiled. She pressed herself against her brother, looking malevolently into his eyes. "I think he's ashamed of her. She must be dreadful ugly." She shoved her empty chalice into her brother's hand. "Or perhaps he prefers her wild and untamed." Cruel mischief shown in her eyes.

Vaisey recovered quickly. "This is a private conversation, missy." He pointed to the door. "Out."

Isabella sneered before slowly walking back up the steps, and out the door. The echo of the door slamming rang through the chambers.

"Remind me again why your sister is here in Nottingham Castle and not at Locksley with you, or with her husband?"

"I am at Locksley and her husband is mean."

The Sheriff sank into his chair and rested his forehead on the back of his fingers. "Oh dear. How dreadful."

"She thinks so."

"We have a problem." It was a statement and most likely the reason the sheriff's mind was moving a league a minute. "Winchester is acting out."

"I killed Winchester."

Vaisey looked up, pointing at Guy. "Aye, you did. You killed Winchester Senior. Not Winchester Junior."

"His heir is giving you difficulties?"

"Yesssss." Vaisey's answer was long and drawn out. "Apparently, Daddy bragged of his plans to Sonny-boy and now Sonny-boy thinks he's the able tactician his father thought he was."

"His 'thinking' got him killed." The Knight smiled mirthlessly. "He wants Sussex."

"I might have to make a short trip to remind the son that as I have his father's signature on that damning piece of paper, it would be in his best interests to honor his father's agreement. While he does not have his father's negotiation skills, I would hate to see him go the way his father did." The shorter man 'tsked' mournfully. "Highwaymen and robbers are soooo ruthless."

_Several days without Vaisey in residence? The peasants would be overjoyed. _Sweet Mother of God, Guy himself would be overjoyed!There was a time Guy would have jumped at the chance to make his mark outside of Nottingham; offered to go to the man's abode to 'talk reason.' However, he was loath to leave Genevieve unguarded and unprotected in the time he would be gone and he simply could not take the woman with him…

"And I suspect, you wish to go or go in my stead. A clue. No."

"My lord," Guy turned his back so Vaisey wouldn't see his relieved grin. "You read my mind." He moved quickly, lest Vaisey sense his subterfuge. "When will you leave?"

"In a few days, most likely." Already, Vaisey was planning. "Right after John's man comes. I do not wish a repeat of the last time I wasn't here when Sir Jasper arrived."

No, most certainly not. John's army was ready to lay waste to Nottingham. Vaisey's return had come in the nick of time.

"At least, we have a backup plan to save the populace."

The Sheriff nodded. He disliked the masses in general, but they kept him in the lap of luxury and Guy was certainly living much better than he had been fifteen years ago, struggling to train as a knight and desperately needing a mentor. No one wanted to take on the under and barely trained teenager. Vaisey would never admit it, but the boy had turned out to be the hardest working and earnest squire he had ever encountered. Guy's desire and ambition to regain what was taken from him and become someone regardless of what he had to do to accomplish it had worked strongly in both the young man and Vaisey's favor. Guy's willing ruthlessness to obtain that was only over-shadowed by Vaisey's own greed. "I shouldn't be gone long. A week at the most." He waved his hand, dismissing the Black Knight. "I will leave Tuesday morning as soon as John's emissary's dust has settled from his leaving. In the meantime, we will think on this Faire. Good at the joust, you are?" Guy nodded. Even if he won, which he should, he wouldn't get to keep much of the prize, if any. "We should have another archery contest. No silver arrow, this time." Unbeknownst to the sheriff, the young teen who 'won' the previous time, used the money from selling his prize to feed his entire village for the winter. Guy had heard whispers of this and silently cheered, ignoring the fact that he suspected Hood had a lot to do with the lad's 'win'.

As Guy mounted the stairs, Vaisey shot out, "If your leper friend is still here, bring her. I'm sure she would like time away from your gloomy abode."

_I was afraid of that._

Guy spent hours on the training field with his men, as well as the castle guards. The castle guards were a sorry lot and he wanted to make sure none of his personal guard embarrassed him at this faire the sheriff was planning.

He would have to practice his jousting skills, as well. That would be interesting.

As the sun lowered to the west, he gathered his men and headed to retrieve Michael from the portcullis, when he heard his name being screamed over the din of the market, which was in the process of closing up for the evening. He turned to see Isandra heaving at a trot, her son lagging behind in their cart.

She was carrying several packages.

_Ah yes, Genevieve's clothing. Pray they are an improvement from the peasant's dress…_

The woman was red in the face. "Sir Guy!" She reached him and began to hand him the packages, as if he were a common servant. "Your lady's things-"

"Yes, hand them to my man." He pointed to Michael, who was mounting his horse. He looked at the numerous packages. "What is all this?"

Michael made his way over upon hearing his name and wordlessly took the packages the dressmaker was now handing him. "Two more tunics, three kirtles, a nightdress, a shift, a corset, several pairs of…" she looked around although she didn't appear to be embarrassed in the least, "ladies small clothes." Her son finally caught up to her and handed over yet another package. "Ah, yes. And leather boots."

"Boots? I said nothing about-"

"She NEEDS proper footwear." Isandra began to nod to herself. "She needs more than that, but as you are being beggardly-"

"Isandra." Guy cut her off curtly. "The sheriff and I were discussing throwing an Autumn Faire in two weeks. Do you wish to have a stall?"

The woman blinked rapidly. "Why yes. Yes, of course."

"Then shut it." The woman's mouth snapped closed. Satisfied at the sudden quiet, he leaned over and whispered, "If Lady Genevieve is still residing with me, she will need additional clothes should she decide to attend the faire. Do you wish the business?" Isandra's mouth opened, but he raised a finger. "Just nod." She did so enthusiastically. "Good. I will be by tomorrow to settle the bill." With that, he and his men exited Nottingham and headed home, Michael trying to juggle too many packages at once.

It was a quiet ride home, Hood staying hidden and to himself for a change. Perhaps, the man was ashamed of his treatment of Genevieve…

And perhaps pigs would fly.

He had a headache by the time he reached Locksley. Eleanor and Thornton greeted him at his door after he brushed down his horse. A bath was waiting for him and Eleanor took off up the stairs with all the packages, where apparently Lady Genevieve had stayed in her room the entire day.

After sinking into the hot tub, with a goblet of wine, Guy was serenaded by the sounds of That Woman and Her Servant squealing over each and every little item. Dear God in Heaven, what was it with women and clothing?

And why was it the only soap in his house smell of lavender? Was there not any… manly smelling soap around?

Another high-pitched squeal…

Deciding he was as clean as he needed to be, Guy rose from the tub, dripping from everywhere. He stepped out, pulling the stopper and grabbed a large bath linen. He wiped down quickly, leaving his hair standing up at odd angles, and wrapped it around his waist, still soaking wet. As he threw the door open – by all that was holy, he was not going to tiptoe around his own home, afraid someone would see him in the all-together! – another excited shriek pierced the air.

No longer willing to stay quiet, Guy stalked down the hall, where the bedroom door for Genevieve's room stood partially open. With one hand still grasping a wad of bath linen at his back, he nudged it further open, taking in the amount of clothing, color strung and hung from everywhere. There were several ribbons on the floor, the furry beasts she called 'kittens' rolling in the midst of them. Neither were aware of his presence.

"Look at this!" Genevieve had a pair of small clothes clutched in her fist. "There is enough room in these for two people, much less one!"

"My lady!" Eleanor didn't know if she should be aghast or laugh. "What you wear is scandalous!"

"That might be so, but-"

"GENEVIEVE!" Both woman and servant turned the man in the door, Eleanor turning red as a beet and covering her eyes, whirling so her back was to him.

Genevieve's eyes were bright. Too bright. She was obviously enjoying the physique that had presented itself to her. Guy decided if he sniffed her, she would smell of wine. "Yes, My lord?" She immediately broke down into unladylike snickering.

"Would you like a repeat of last night?"

Eleanor gasped. Genevieve, on the other hand… if anything else, her pupils dilated further. "It depends."

"On wot?"

"On whether or not you're going to leave me in the same state as you did last night."

_Huzzah!_

The knight saluted her with one finger from his forehead, his other hand clutching the bath cloth at his backside. "Get dressed. Stop the caterwauling." He turned and stalked to his room, not realizing (and he would not have cared anyway) that his rear view was being admired and that he left a trail of water in his wake.

He did not hear the fit of inebriated snickering. "He's gone so you can turn around now Eleanor. Shut the door." Genevieve waited until the door was shut. "Nothing happened, by the way."

"M'lady, it is not my place to say or judge," Eleanor murmured. "What would you like to wear tonight for the evening meal?"

Genevieve pointed to specific item. "That."

~~~…~~~

Guy was still down to the table before Genevieve. Wine was set before him immediately.

"My lord, Fiona is due back from her sister's the day after the Sabbath. Would you have me dispense with Eleanor's services?"

Guy furrowed his brow. Although testy, he was in a generous mood. Besides, he had wanted to grant Genevieve a boon for standing up to Hood and giving a member of Hood's gang a black eye. "No. Retain Eleanor while Lady Genevieve continues to reside here. She will keep the lady out of Fiona's hair." Fiona was a veritable dragon that even Thornton stepped lightly around. Her services were typically best kept to the kitchen and the thought of her serving a lady residing in the house who was not relative or wife made the lord of the manor's head ache. And once Guy brought Genevieve to his bed… it would be a dance to see how long they could hide it.

_If he wanted to hide it. Do I care?_

Besides, Eleanor had proven herself worthy of staying on. She kept up with the upstairs much better and for the first time since taking over Locksley, he had fresh linens and a freshly aired room each day.

He also suspected that keeping the bathing room clean and ready was time consuming as well.

"Thornton?" He lifted the chalice, savoring the aroma of the grape. "Lady Genevieve has been in the wine today, has she not?"

"Yes, my lord."

"No more."

"You said-"

"I know what I said." He took a drink of the cool liquid, before lifting his eyes to his servant. "No more."

_If she needs it, I will dispense it._

"Yes, m'lord."

At that point, Genevieve made her grand entrance.

Looking every bit a fairy queen.

_**~~~…~~~**_

_**I'm loving what you wanna wear**_

_**~~~…~~~**_

_**A/N - Every single one of those book titles that showed up on Genevieve's iPad truly exist and I'm ashamed to admit that each and every one of them is on my Kindle. The Vengeful Knight was actually quite good. He's vengeful, but he's hawt...what was his name again?...**_


	14. 13 - it does not

**Manna from Heaven**

_**Chapter 13**_

…_**it does not…**_

Some women looked beautiful regardless of what they wore. Genevieve was one of those women.

The cream tunic was diaphanous, floating around her body as if weightless, with long, gossamer bell sleeves. The kirtle was green, short sleeved, to allow the tunic freedom. It did not meet in the middle, green ribbons criss-crossing in the front, allowing the almost white bodice to peek through. The kirtle was hooded, but lay back and was trimmed in a gold thread.

Isabella would have hated the simplicity of the ensemble, because she would not glow in it as Genevieve did.

Guy's mouth lifted in a half-smirk. He openly and sensuously perused her form. "Nice. Hungry?" He quirked an eyebrow and pulled out her chair.

Genevieve was feeling little pain. She had spent the day accomplishing nothing. The wine carafe in her room stayed full and she had read two books that she normally would not have read under normal conditions. Needless to say, she had a hankering for broody knights, who had been done dirty, with revenge on their minds at this time and deep down she knew she could most likely blame her shifty office manager who somehow was managing to walk time with her. "I feel like I'm dining with the Big Bad Wolf," she remarked coyly. She sat in her chair and allowed Guy to maneuver her to the table. "Thank you."

Guy leaned over, resting his hand on her shoulder, uncaring if anyone overheard or not. "You are. I am big, I am very bad and the wolf _is_ my crest."

Although no longer in the throes of backache mayhem and the effects of the wine earlier was now wearing off, Genevieve was feeling rather saucy. "You are tall and I would think you are more naughty than bad." She rested her hand over his, covering his signet ring. "And considering the wolf on your ring and the emblem found about your home, I suspected that you are."

For a moment, he… they lingered in that position, before Guy pushed himself from her chair and slid into his. Somewhere in the kitchen, Eleanor squealed in glee, Thornton obviously having told her that her services would be kept on. For the first time since she was hired, she looked Guy in the eye when she served him and smiled.

For some odd reason, it terrified the knight. Wasn't the little servant girl supposed to be frightened of him, as she should?

_When women smile, they want something. _

"No, they don't." Genevieve was leaning over towards him. "Sometimes, we smile to show our appreciation, our gratefulness."

Guy pretended to eyeball his roast chicken. "I do not recall saying anything."

"No, but I could read it in your face." Genevieve returned to her own dinner, finally eating heartily, something she had not done since the morning before. "Believe me, she is more petrified of you, than you could ever be of her," she mumbled.

"Ah, are you quite certain you are not a witch? Reading the thoughts of others is a sign of unnatural abilities." Guy was continuing to work on his plate.

"I am not and you know it."

Guy leered at her before returning to his meal.

As he had the night previous, Guy waited until the house was quiet, the servants gone before venturing to Genevieve's room with the bottle of oil, praying the kittens were asleep and their mother had left no dead beasties in the floor.

He attempted to have a 'chat' with his other head about keeping it to himself and not rearing up and making a fool out of the knight, but Guy decided he was fighting a losing battle. Instead, he quietly took matters into his own hands attempting again to put out the fire in the fireplace, while Genevieve was bathing, hoping that he would be unable to recover too quickly.

That wish was dashed the moment he stepped into her room.

She was again clothed in his old clothes, the nightrail that had been hanging over a chair that he remembered seeing was no where in sight. "The nightdress is stiff and is being washed. Besides, it's white and these are more comfortable," seeing the question in his expression. She held out her wrists, ties dangling. "Tie me up?"

Guy stared at her for what seemed to the longest time. The longer he glared, the brighter she smiled. "Someday..."

She thrust her arms again. "Please?"

_Sigh._

He took her right hand and proceeded to the do the ties on the shirt. "Someday, m'lady," he somehow managed to continue the thought, "I will take you up on your delightful offer in a way you do not expect."

For once, she smirked. "Perhaps, I have an idea and I'm looking forward to it." The reply was so soft, he almost thought he imagined it.

And so, for the second time in 24 hours, Guy found himself settled on the backs of Genevieve's thighs, giving her a backrub he was no longer sure she really needed this evening. Not that he was complaining.

Much.

Truth be told, Guy felt as if she were enjoying it rather enthusiastically.

"I do not believe your back is paining you this eve."

"To the best of my recollection, you offered when you stood in my doorway, wrapped in nary but a bath linen and thoroughly scandalized my... my... what do I call her?"

"Your personal maid."

"Oh." Considering the passion Guy apparently had giving her a massage, it occurred to Genevieve to tell him if he wanted in her pants, he'd keep doing what he was doing, but she thought she should hold her tongue. Considering the modesty of Eleanor and the things Sir Guy had said in anger to her, she had the feeling that men of this time rather liked their women unschooled and unable to compare one man to others, not to mention, there seemed to be a strict social and moral conduct, enforced by this time period's belief system. All she had to go by were the romance novels in which the so-called wise older woman claimed sex was a chore to put up with. Of course the heroine had fantastic swing from the chandelier monkey sex with her hunky knight/cowboy/fireman/duke/earl/caveman anyhoo, damn the old bats anyway!

Or perhaps a woman's virginity was all she had that she could personally barter; the price of it high. Once gone...

On the other hand, if women really thought that, small wonder their men had more mistresses than horses. Or hawks. Or dogs.

She realized he had stopped rubbing her back, waiting for an answer.

"This feels very nice. Thank you." She snuggled her head into the pillow. "I'll repay the favor some time."

Again, she felt him cover her, heard him whisper into her ear. "Yes. You will."

The thought of how he would want her to repay the favor sent chills up her spine, which were quickly followed by his fingers.

"Might I ask you a question?"

It came from the blue. While relaxed, Genevieve was nowhere near the level of nirvana as she had been the night before, so in a sense, the question put her on her guard. Remembering his response from the previous evening, she answered the same way. "You may. That does not mean I will answer."

She felt, rather than heard him snort. "You exhibit certain... symptoms... on the outset of your... menses." It was quiet while he ministered to her back. "The backaches, short-temperedness... poor appetite..." his voice trailed off, the man seemingly engrossed in her skin.

"And your point?" Her voice was soft.

"Nightmares? Bad dreams? This is part of it?"

Genevieve stopped breathing.

His fingers became firmer, more insistent. "You _will _answer me."

"No."

"No, you do not or no, you will not answer me?"

"No, I do not."

For a moment, the massage came to a halt. Guy lifted his hands, the coolness of the air between them making Genevieve's skin tingle.

"Odd." More oil was trickled into the small of her back, the scent of woods and sandalwood rising in the air. He again lulled her into a strange state of paradise, where the only sound was the crackling of the fireplace and the creaking of the bed ropes.

He murmured softly.

"What was that?" Genevieve was in a state of sheer bliss.

"I said, how long will you tease me, m'lady?"

"Me? Tease?" The quiet sentiment made Genevieve snort. " I'm not the one sitting on your butt, squirming with a hard on and plying naked skin with oil."

"True," he agreed quietly. "However I am the one attempting to alleviate a backache I believe you no longer have."

_True that._

"You know," she tried to reroute the man, "the backache is the worst. Once it abates, the other three days are a breeze."

Guy was now grinning in a most evil manner. "Three more days is all?"

Genevieve was starting to yawn. "That is another side effect from the implant. More pain, fewer days. Four days now usually, rather than six." She exhaled. "I guess my body has to cram those missed days into it."

Guy was not paying attention. Instead, he was counting days in his head.

"Guy?"

"Hmmm?" Shaking off his lusty thoughts, he focused again on the back presented to him.

"My British history is non-existent. I know your... Black Brotherhood wants to put John on the throne. But what does he think of that? Does he want to be king?"

Again, the room fell into an almost silence, before he answered. "John expected to be crowned king and might have, if it were not for the scheming and plotting of his own mother."

"Does he know a group of the king's nobles are disgruntled and trying to put him on the throne? What do they expect to gain if he does become king?" The few things Genevieve could remember from her history classes did not paint John in a very good light. Of course and then there was that movie... "Does he know about the group you are involved in?"

Genevieve was not an ignorant woman and Guy was realizing this more and more. He had a feeling she had spent the day examining and putting puzzle pieces together, which she had been and coming up with some terrible but astute conclusions. Guy was born tight-lipped, keeping his thoughts to himself most times. Only once or twice had he ever found someone who he could confide in and truth was, it had been years since he spoke openly to anyone about the things he pondered and thought of.

But Genevieve had an open and curious mind, quick to grasp concepts, and swift to come to conclusions and decisions. On occasion, a niggly voice in the back of his head claimed him she was Vaisey's spy, but he knew better. He could tell when Vaisey was planning, plotting; the man had become rather predictable. As time went on, the more the knight was convinced that the woman between his legs was exactly who she said she was.

_Not of this time._

"Who knows Prince John's mind? He keeps his own counsel. However, Vaisey thinks to rule England, to use John as a puppet. He thinks he is more intelligent than the prince Regent. But I tell you," his voice now dropped to a low whisper. "I have spent some months with John and John knows the Sheriff's plans. He will rule this land without anyone's aid and remove anyone who stands in his way." Guy put his head down, concentrating on things besides Genevieve's back. "And I do not intend to stand in the prince's way. If he tries, Vaisey will hang and I will snatch what was his and garner more."

Genevieve looked over her shoulder, seeing the man in a new light. Perhaps, it was not so new after all. "It's all dog eat dog. All about power."

Guy was not aware she was watching him, watching the shadows flicker across his face. "No, not power. Ambition. At first, I just wanted what was mine back. I just wanted enough power to keep it so no one would take it from me or mine ever again."

"And now?"

"And now, I know better. There will always be someone stronger, more powerful, to take what belongs to those who are not as strong." For a moment, Winchester's face flickered before him, the man leading Marian in manacles to his coach, thinking he had won her. Guy had killed the man and felt no remorse whatsoever. How easily that life had been snuffed, taken. All of Winchester's power and money had not kept him safe. Now he looked and met her eyes boldly, the fire of his temper barely held in check. "I will never be weak again."

Genevieve shifted, turned beneath him, his hands now resting on the softness of her stomach. It took every ounce of his self-control to not reach up and cup her breasts. "There is only one way for John to become king, isn't there?"

The fire was low and the room was dark, Guy's eyes glittering like possessed obsidian. "Aye."

"That's why you've chosen to run if Richard returns, isn't it? It isn't because of who you've aligned yourself with. There's more, isn't there?"

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing painfully. _She knew too much. Much too much_. "Aye."

"Something unforgivable."

"Genevieve-"

"Have you tried-"

_God woman! Shut it!_

"He still walks the earth, does he not?" She was treading on thin ice, moving too close, discussing things that could endanger her, kill her.

"Your idea or someone over you?"

"The more you speak, the more peril you are in, Genevieve." It was a hissed whisper.

Without taking her eyes from him, she gently grasped his wrists, lifting his hands and placed them at her throat, putting herself completely at his mercy. With a rush, Guy realized just how fragile she was; how much she...

_...trusted him..._

"Your idea or someone over you?" He felt the sound vibrating beneath his thumbs.

His fingers stroked her neck, teasing the pulsating throb of life there. "Has it not dawned on you? Do you not realize? I am simply a lackey. Someone's evil henchman." His eyes never left hers, glittering orbs in the dark. "I do someone's bidding for them."

Genevieve continued to stare into his eyes, his soul, Guy's hands still at her throat. "How old were you when Vaisey plucked you from whatever hell you were in? How beholden are you to him?"

Guy couldn't take much more. He pulled his hands from her throat and threw himself beside her, pulling her into his arms, as if to cuddle her. "I was nineteen. Please shut it," he beseeched, pressing her face to his chest.

This... _this..._ his arms was such a wonderful, protective place. Genevieve snuggled in, determined to keep him at her side this night. She took in his smell, lavender still, but leather and earth as well. "Not evil. Simply beholden."

Guy tightened his grip on her and kissed the top of her head, taking in her scent. "How do you mean, 'beholden'?"

She was quiet for a moment, tangling her fingers in his shirt, so similar to the one she wore. "It means you feel or he has convinced you, you owe him. Your allegiance, your loyalty-" With this, his heart clutched in fear with how close to the truth she was. "-your life. It means you're in between a rock and a hard place and you don't think you can tell him no." Again, the room turned silent as the two took refuge in each other's arms. As he began to relax, she whispered, low but still enough for him to hear. "Control your destiny, Guy. No one has the right to take that from you. No one has the right to judge you. Be your own man." Within minutes, her breath deepened and evened out, her sleep coming quickly.

So unwilling to disturb her and in some ways, envious of her unfettered slumber, Guy pulled the covers up over them and spent too long, staring at the canopy over the too narrow bed, churning in his own thoughts, before falling into a shallow, restless sleep.

~~~...~~~

In the dark, the deep of the night, Guy fitfully tried to roll over, his arm caught under Genevieve...

_Robin's fist crashed into Guy's jaw. "Thief!"_

_"No more than you!" Guy recovered quickly, an uppercut landing squarely at Hood's chin. "All I wanted was what belonged to me, what you stole!" Again, he struck the smaller man. _

_Swords materialized in both of their hands. Soon, the sound of metal striking each other rang through the forest._

_"Murderer!" _

_Guy wasn't winded. He pushed the outlaw backwards towards a tightly planted group of trees. "You have killed none? No Saracens while in the Holy Land?" He slashed at the man, drawing first blood. "You lie if you deny it!" _

_Hood lashed back in fury. "You killed Marian!" _

_For a moment, the knight froze, before shaking it off. "Is that the best you have got?" _

_Hood stepped backwards, shock on his face. "Wot? You feel no remorse? No regret?" _

_The Black Knight sneered. "You do not know what I feel!"_

_The man attacked the knight in a fury. "You murdering whoreson-"_

_The knight raised his sword to defend himself, casting off the angry blows. "Old news."_

_"Bastard!" _

_"My parents were married. Were yours?"_

_The outlaw stopped, his breathing heavy. He bent over, hands to his knees. "Do you have no sense of decency? Will you not beg for forgiveness?" _

_At the word 'forgiveness', something snapped in the tall knight. With several controlled and well-practiced moves, he pressed the obnoxious boy from his childhood back into a tree. "From you? Not hardly!" He disarmed the man and pulled a knife from his belt, his broadsword pinning him to the tree and his knife now against his throat. "Only the king or God has the right to forgive me!" He leaned forward, almost nose to nose with the outlaw. "Last I looked, you were not Richard! Nor are you God!" The customary Gisborne sneer asserted itself. "I will not ask it from you! You do not have the right!"_

_He thrust-_

_~~~...~~~_

Guy woke with a start, gasping for breath, clinging to the edge of the narrow bed.

_You do not have that right, no one has the right, I have to live with this…_

The weight and oddly, the comfort of a warm body snuggled and wrapped around his, brought him quickly to his senses.

"WhazisizokaybetterdammitVal..." Genevieve nestled in closer, her ankles between his and her nose in his side. Her hand clutched his shirt. "GodosleepGuy."

_Go do sleep Guy._

He hung on to the woman as he eased back more on the bed. Once somewhat comfortably situated and certain she had returned to a deeper sleep, he nuzzled her hair, gloried in the scent, the softness of it. Not realizing what he was doing, he reached up and stroked the mahogany locks, before wrapping one around his index finger. The urge to protect her, to destroy whoever haunted her sleep, her life was over-whelming, more consuming than his desire for Marian. Eventually, his own breathing evened out as he himself slid into a deep, finally dreamless sleep.

~~~...~~~

Genevieve woke up refreshed, secure, alone in her bed...

_Alone?_

She jerked up, looking around. The entire bed was mussed, a second dent in the pillow next, which was still warm from the body that slept next to her that evening. Replaying the previous night, she concluded that not only had Guy spent the entire night in the bed with her, he didn't touch her sexually, but it was also the best night's rest she had had in ages. Not only since 'coming' here, but for months.

_She didn't sleep this well the few times Lamar deigned to spend the night with her!_

Suddenly, the bed was cold and staying in it alone was disheartening. Both feet hit the floor with a thud, causing the kittens to startle and mew.

"You alright?"

Genevieve's head jerked up to see Guy standing outside her doorway clad only in leggings, his hair standing up on ends. There was a cloth draped over his shoulder, his face was wet, and he appeared to have a straight razor in his hand.

For some odd reason, Genevieve self-consciously wiped her hands on her posterior. "I'm fine."

"The staff just arrived." He pointed to the bed. "They don't need to know..."

"Oh no!" she quickly agreed. "None of their business." She was now nodding like a bobble headed doll. "Probably would shock poor Eleanor to run away and never return." With this, she dug her toe in the rug. "I forgot. Thank you for keeping her. She's a real sweetie."

Guy just stared.

"Uhm... I need to... you know... take care of things. Girly stuff." She jutted her chin towards the chamber pot.

Guy nodded his head, before reaching for the door and shutting it.

He could hear her exhalation of breath from the other side.

~~~...~~~

Genevieve and Guy were not aware of it, but the change of mood and the subtle shift in their relationship affected the entire household. It breathed, it relaxed. No one said anything when their chairs at the table were moved directly next to each other, touching, nor was it mentioned that the two spent their meals with their heads so close together whispering, that it gave a sense of intimacy between the two.

Over the weekend, Genevieve discovered that if she spent more than twenty minutes attempting to work on her contract, she developed a splitting headache. The only thing she was able to discern in the two day period was whatever commitments she had building-wise and artistically was her responsibility out of her pocket, from the proceeds of the sale.

_Will there be anything left? _

This 'sale' was looking more and more like a lemon and Genevieve was having second thoughts.

"You mean to tell me that you have just now decided this might not be a wise move?" Guy was stretched out on her bed, taking up all of it, thank you very much, with the notepad in one hand and the iPad in the other, looking back and forth at both. He had taken to spending much time sprawled on her bed, once his servants was gone and hinting loudly that *_his*_ bed was oh so much bigger and more comfortable, not to mention the room was warmer...

Yeah, the man was a veritable heating pad.

And she had slept better and he himself looked rested after that night he spent with her - doing absolutely nothing what the hell is up and wrong with that?...

He didn't look so haunted and fatigued.

"I was hoping we could discuss the stock issue, but if they are going to demand I not work for thirty years, not allow me to teach my craft or keep up with the latest advancements and turn over all of my stock... and this?" Genevieve gestured to the things Guy was holding. "Then no. This isn't looking very good at all and I'm rather reluctant to go through with the deal."

Guy set the notepad and iPad down on the table next to the bed and plucked Maleficent from his stomach, much to her dismay. "If you are so opposed to go through that, perhaps you would prefer to lie next to me and explain to me how your time manages to fly in the air, from place to place, and how you have placed a man on the moon."

"I think you simply want me in a better position to kiss me."

Guy shrugged and looked up at her. "These lips will not kiss themselves." He moved over to give her room as she crawled on the bed and molded herself next to him. "If we... you know..."

"No, I do not know."

Her sigh was comical. "If I start sleeping with you in your bed, will you make me get up before the crack of dawn to come in here?"

"More than likely." Again, a long, theatrical sigh from her. "I suppose in your time, people openly fornicate without the benefit of clergy."

"Pretty much. We call it living together, living in sin, trying it on for size, a dry run before the big day. Cohabitating."

"And this is allowed? This...cohabitating." On one hand, the man was disgusted. On the other, how liberating.

"The church is not a political force, in my time," she admitted quietly. "Many do it for financial reasons. It's cheaper. I know many of the widowed elderly do not marry because it will negatively affect their retirements, their pensions. Many widows would lose their deceased husband's retirement if they remarry, so they simply live with their new lover." She smiled to herself. "I've heard rumors of some who have a hard time with it, going through the ceremony at church, getting the Lord's Blessing, but not getting a government marriage license, therefore not making it legal."

"So the government is in charge of marriage and not the church?" Genevieve was being pulled in closer, tighter to him, his lips in her hair. "And do you believe in or practice in this cohabitating?"

Genevieve shook her head, focusing on his shirt. "No. I mean, if others do that, that's fine. I don't care one way or the other. But for me? If I'm living with someone, we have a set date at the chapel."

"Vows are still sacred?" His mouth moved from her hair to her ear, making it difficult for her to speak, much less think.

"Vows have always been sacred. Some just don't take them as seriously as they should." She managed to get the statement out as he reached her mouth.

For some minutes, he appeased her lips, or perhaps she appeased his. Just as she began to breathe heavy and was flushed, he raised his head. "Now tell me. How does one fly? And what is 'dropping a bomb'? "

She growled while banging her head on his chest.

~~~...~~~

In order to keep the general populace calm, cool, and preferably not talking about her, Genevieve attended Sunday morning mass wearing the least colorful, most somber outfit Isandra had made for her; the grey tunic that Guy thought looked so beggarly with the black kirtle. She sat in the back, so it would be easier to follow the congregation up and down and kneel and genuflect. At least in the back, no one would notice that she didn't know how to genuflect.

The priest was NOT the same one as who had listened to her and counseled her several days before. Truth was, her mind wandered off as the priest was speaking in Latin.

So, she prayed. Genevieve always prayed, always in her head. She prayed for understanding for this contract. She prayed - finally - for a clear head and making the right decision about the sale. She prayed about Sir Guy - if this was hell or a dream, it certainly wasn't funny and if she did... well... you know... _did that_... and this wasn't hell and she went back, what would happen?

She prayed that no one would sell her a gun so she wouldn't be tempted to kill Lamar upon her return.

But after some thought, she prayed for more time with Sir Sex-Walking. Had it only been a week that she arrived?

And she prayed that he would live up to the hype she created in her head.

She returned to Locksley Hall, alone, to the quiet. Guy was in Nottingham and she could have sworn she heard the house creak. Again, she attempted to work on the contract, only for her eyes to burn within ten minutes. She jumped at every sound.

She ended up reading 'A Knight's Temptation.'

And wondered if Her Knight would think she was a hussy if she handcuffed herself naked to his bed in an attempt to seduce him. He was becoming quite the... chivalrous knight, all of a sudden.

Speaking of, where were her handcuffs? That Man still hadn't returned them! Maybe he wasn't so chivalrous after all.

When Guy arrived later that afternoon, he was surprised to find her antsy, out of sorts; she made him promise never to leave her alone again; to make sure someone - Joffrey, Michael, Thornton, anyone - was in the hall with her. He found her sassiness amusing. That infuriated her. What if Hood showed up?

_Give him a black eye, like you gave Kate._

But Sir Guy saw that she was disturbed being left alone. Perhaps, rather than attend Mass at Nottingham, he could have gone with her, here in Locksley.

_Some day Guy. You will have to get over the fact the last time you were in that chapel, you did not get married._

Then again, perhaps not. Next Sunday, he would stay put here at Locksley. It wasn't like he attended Mass regularly as of late.

Fiona returned to Locksley on Monday. She was courteous, if slightly cool when she met Genevieve, but as the day wore on, she warmed up to the young woman after seeing how she and the lord of manor got along at breakfast. Being gone a week, she could see the change in Sir Guy; relaxed, not so pale or exhausted. She was observant, watched how their hands touched, their heads tipped together when they whispered, Sir Guy leaving a guard just for her.

"Her speech and manner of dress is strange." She stood in the kitchen in front of a pail of water, washing dishware.

"You get used to it, Fiona." Thornton was drying and putting them on the shelf. ""She stands up to him. They," with this he smiled, "get along."

Fiona looked around to ensure they were not being eavesdropped on. "If he is has not lain with her yet, he will be before the week is over!"

"We hope so."

"THORNTON!" She dropped the pewter goblet back in the water, causing it to splash.

"Fiona," the steward began patiently. "She rouses his ire, she argues with him, they verbally fence with each other, but she never once has insulted him or he, her. He almost smiles."

This shocked the woman. "I have been the cook and housekeeper here since Lord Robin and I have never seen Sir Guy do more than smirk!"

"He dances attendance on her, much like he did Lady Marian. Only Lady Genevieve appreciates it and is kindly to him. If she makes him happy, I pray she never finds out where she came from and stays." He smiled to himself. "I believe they like each other. Perhaps, it will grow into more."

"What does Lord Robin have to say about this?" Fiona hissed.

Thornton sighed heavily. "Lord Robin tried to rob her and was only stopped by Friar Tuck. She had nothing save the clothes she wore and a crucifix and Lord Robin tried to rob her!" Thornton shook his head. "I understand his grief, but he was not and is not thinking straight." They finished the dishes before Thornton whispered, "She took Lady Marian's horse out for a ride on Thursday."

"Sir Guy allowed it?"

"Oh no." Thornton was smiling at the memory. "She had that horse saddled and was trotting out with Michael the Red chasing after her, terrified he would be flogged. Sir Guy caught them, but when he and Lady Genevieve returned alone, he made her promise she would only ride with him afterwards."

"Still, it is sinful and a disgrace-"

Thornton gently grabbed her wrist. "Remember, Fiona. He is lord of this manor, regardless of what we feel in our heart or want to believe. He will do as he will and we can accept it and hold our tongues or lose our tongues. Eleanor did a fine job filling doing your chores this past week. Remember, we are all replaceable."

And with that, the man dried his hands and went to the study to record the week's receipts and make a list of the hall's needs.

~~~…~~~

Monday's sunset was bright and the air crisp, but during the night, thunder rolled in and the sun rose behind clouds and stormy weather. So wanting to leave before the weather worsened, the sheriff met Sir Jasper in the courtyard, not allowing him to even as much as dismount. Vaisey's horse was already saddled in the castle barn, his saddlebags firmly attached behind before John's man was under the portcullis and on his way.

"How long will you be gone?" Guy followed Vaisey out into the bailey, guards mounted, lined up. He knew how long Vaisey would be gone, but he wanted to hear the man say it again. If it made Vaisey think less of the knight, so be it. It suited Guy's desires and need for the man to not think he would or could betray him, when needed. _'Vaisey thinks I am weak and have not a brain in my head. Let him think that.'_

It was a gray day, misty. It had rained all night the night before and Vaisey was relieved Sir Jasper showed up in the nasty elements, therefore not making him put off his trip to Winchester's. Guy was surprised the sheriff was leaving for Earl's, regardless. There was not much of a break and it was not showing signs of dissipating any time soon. As the sheriff approached his own horse, the lone guardsman not in the saddle, got down on all fours, creating a step up for the man. For not the first time, Guy was grateful that particular job was no longer his and hadn't been for years and years. For some odd reason, Vaisey considered a 'hand up' as too feminine for his tastes and refused such aid, preferring to humiliate an underling.

Vaisey was pulling on his riding gloves, leaving the guard in the mud. "Several days. Most likely, I will be gone a week. I should be back well in time before Sir Jasper arrives, however if I am not, send a rescue party for me and make sure the peasants are safe in the woods. Hood might be a pain in my posterior, but he will protect the people." He leaned closer, forcing the knight to stoop down somewhat. "You know where the secret entrance is, in and out, correct?" Guy nodded. Good God, he had overseen the work personally. "Good. Get as many of the townspeople out as possible. I don't mind rebuilding if the place is razed, but stocking the castle with new tax paying citizens and servants will be difficult. They'll get tired of living in the forest after a while. People like their creature comforts." He patted the much taller man on the shoulder as if he were a child, something that infuriated Guy. "Winchester's heir needs to be brought to heel again. I would send you, but I think a more delicate hand is necessary." Guy forced his face to remain impassive, keeping his scowl to himself. Vaisey's 'delicate hand' was nothing more than a ruse. The man was heavy handed and cruel. "His last missive was positively surly, therefore it is time to remind him where he stands. With both of us gone, Hood will take over and we cannot have that, can we? A clue. No." He turned and mounted up. Picking up the reins, he leaned over. "Besides, we both know you are enjoying your sport with your leper friend and I fear a separation this soon in your honeymoon stage would make you boorish company. Enjoy it while you can."

"I suppose you would have me wait judgments and punishments?"

"Only the most heinous." Vaisey did enjoy a good hanging or beheading. The man was positively psychotic with joy when it came to watching people suffer or die. For not the first time since her death, Guy pondered on Marian's thoughts questioning the man's sanity. "Otherwise, no. However, of course, if it is a grievance against you, yours, or your lands, you may deal as you see fit. Chop off a few hands, hang a few people. That should keep everyone in line. Taxes are current, but if anyone gives you a hard time, raise them. Oh, and plan our Faire. Announce it. Hire musicians, street performers. Bring the gaming tables from the cellars and dust them off. Prepare the jousting arena." With that, he called out to his guards, who surrounded him and left. As the man's entourage cleared the portcullis and cantered off down the road, one could sense, if not hear, a collective sigh of relief from the castle itself. Turning his back to the departing sheriff, Guy made his way indoors. There were several things that needed tended to. As he entered the hall, his sister sidled up next to him.

"Sheriff's gone, Guy will play." She walked her fingers up his chest, until he grabbed them and roughly shoved them to the side.

"Bugger off. I have things to tend to." With a jerk of his head, he motioned to one of his guards.

"Still, I imagine you will be so busy, you'll be sending a messenger to retrieve the whore." Again, Isabella was dancing around, moving quickly to evade the guard. "I hear she's got you jerking on a string. One would think-"

In a blink of an eye, Guy moved, pinning the woman against a wall. Servants in the hall made quick 'U' turns and avoided the feuding siblings with everything they could. "How soon, Isabella," he hissed in her ear, 'how soon did you ignore your sacred vows and allow another to stick his tongue down your throat?" His sister turned white. "Have you allowed Hood liberties?" His hand around her throat, if he didn't kill her, she would surely bruise by the morrow. "She could teach you lessons on gentility and manners. She is more of a lady than you will ever be!" With that, he flung the woman from him. "The Sheriff is planning a faire. Make yourself available to Vaisey's steward and chatelaine about the setting up of the Great Hall. Earn your keep!" With that parting shot, he stalked off, leaving heated fury in his wake.

As she straightened her gown, she felt a not so gentle hand grasp her arm. She allowed the guard to remove her from the corridor and escort her to her room. During the short journey, she smirked to herself, so similar to her brother's. _Well, I wondered how close the two of you are. Now I know. And if you are questioning my nobility, it clearly means she is not what you say she is._

_~~~...~~~_

By afternoon, it was pouring rain. Guy stood in the window of his quarters, watching, praying for a break in the weather to return home. It had been four days. For three nights, he lay by her side in the dark, in a too narrow bed, teasing her, teasing himself. Yes, the conversation had been enlightening, stimulating. She refused to speak of England's history, swore it was not her forte, whatever 'her forte' meant, but he had a feeling she knew more than she pretended she didn't and chose to leave him in the dark. He wondered why. But what he learned about her time...what he learned about her.

He wanted her. And not for just physical release. He... _wanted... _ her. He did not want her to leave. For the first time in ages, he could breathe, he looked forward to something that Vaisey had not dabbled his fingers in. Marian said she saw good in him; Genevieve made him feel there was good in him, that he could accomplish anything. It was if she was drawing it out and polishing it, polishing him like a rare gem. Genevieve tried to understand him, things, in ways Marian did not. He often thought of leaving, fleeing, starting again, but now, he could not imagine him doing that without her at his side.

She had been there in his home a little over a week. What magic had she used to ensnare him, bewitch him?

He decided that he did not care.

As the day wore on and the sun set, the weather worsened. With great reluctance, Sir Guy decided to spend the night at Nottingham. The minute the weather broke tomorrow, he would head home. Joffrey was there; he could send a messenger, and under normal conditions would. But if he was going to send a man out in this weather, he might as well go himself. He didn't wish an ague or consumption on anyone. She would understand.

He wished his body understood.

~~~...~~~

"Lady Genevieve; 'e won't be comin' home in this sort o' weather. Come an' eat. Fioner outdone 'erself."

She stood by the main hall door, watching the rain fall. "I know." She felt a kind hand at her arm.

"Sir Guy would be displeased if he thought we allowed you to waste away." With a tender force, Thornton pulled her from the doorway and shut them. "We will all sit at the table, so you won't be alone. Joffrey will be here tonight and Eleanor has offered to stay as well, if you like."

"Joffrey will be fine." Genevieve allowed herself to be herded to the table, where yes, Eleanor was now laying out four extra places for her and the servants. Fiona had left the minute she had finished cooking, in attempt to beat the rain. She allowed them to lift her spirits for the meal, but when it was finished, the places cleared and it was simply her and Joffrey, the house grew quiet, too quiet. Bored out of her skull, she brought down her iPad, notebook and a pencil and damning the headache, if it decided to come, she set to work at the dining room table, on the next part of the contract.

~~~…~~~

For not the first time that evening, Guy regretted his decision to stay in Nottingham for the night. The fine rainy mist turned into a drizzle, and as the temperatures dropped, he stood in front of the open window. With his arms crossed defiantly across his chest, he decided that the rashness of his resolution to stay put for the evening, was the fault of the little she-demon in Locksley. No doubt, it would be pouring rain on the morrow and he would either ride home in it or decide to continue his stay; something which was not tolerable in the least. Vaisey tested his temper sorely anymore and Isabella was a bitch.

There was a scratching at the door.

The knight scowled. It was late. If the sheriff had been in residence and wanted his services, they would come pounding, yelling. Isabella… well, Isabella could hang. "Who is it?" He made sure his voice did not sound the least bit welcoming.

"It's Felicity. One of the maids."

A maid? This late? What the-

Guy threw the door open. "I have no need for a maid at this late hour."

The girl – surely she was no more than a girl – bowed her head, before looking nervously up and down the hall. "Please, Sir Guy…" Her voice trailed off and she began to squirm anxiously. "May I speak to you? Privately?"

With a dismissive nod, he opened the door wider, beckoning her in. "What?"

A blush crept up her face and across her neck. "I came to… inquire… if you… wouldlikesomecompanytonight?" The last five words came out in a rush, flying from the girl's lips.

Guy wasn't sure he heard her right. "Wot?"

She swallowed hard, measuring her words carefully. "I said I came to inquire if you would like some company tonight." Again, she began to fidget with her sash. "I came to offer my services." The last was a whisper.

With this, the knight thought for a moment. It had been a while since a woman had shared his bed, some months now since Eadyth, but this was no woman. He reached out and took her by the chin, lifting it, to look at her closely. As he stepped closer, he could smell sweat, the kitchen on her. She needed a bath and needed one badly. Living with Genevieve spoiled him to the smell of a fresher body. "You offer to service me?" Eyes shut tight, she nodded once. A single tear crept from the side. "How old are you?"

"Almost fourteen, m'lord." He had to strain to hear her.

Guy turned her loose and stepped away from her, deep in thought. Men had needs and he had not allowed a woman to see to his needs since his return from London. "Are you experienced?" In the past, he had fantasized that the wench beneath him was Marian, even at times with Aedyth. As of late however, when he had seen to his own needs, it wasn't Marian's face dancing behind his eyelids; rather a dark-eyed vixen who spoke with a strange, unknown tongue. Somehow, the thought of imagining her while taking another held little to no appeal, whatsoever. He wanted Genevieve.

"No, my lord."

Guy spun on her in horror. "No!" He shooed at her. "Go. Do not test me." He twisted back towards the open window, waiting to hear the door open and shut. When it did not, he became angered. "I said-"

"My lord, please… my mother…" She was beginning to cry, he could hear it. "There was a kitchen fire a few days ago." The knight nodded to himself. He had heard one of the guards talking about it. The wood had been piled by a child who didn't know what he was doing and a burning log fell out, catching one of the cook's skirts afire. "She was burned badly, both legs. She needs a healer, but I have no money and as she unable to work, the sheriff refuses to pay her, even for… for… for…"

Ah. "So," Guy whispered, still watching the gently falling rain outside the open casement. "You sacrifice your virginity for the price of a healer." He swallowed hard. What would he have sacrificed to heal his own mother? Bring her back from the dead? Or his father, for that matter? "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"My lord?"

He looked at her over his shoulder, staring hard. "Why me? Why have you chosen me?" With this he turned, looking very much the demon in the low light. "Surely there are others closer to your-"

"They say," she interrupted, and after seeing him glare, she cleared her throat, "I mean, it is whispered that you are… gentle; a kind lover. And that you are generous."

"Ah." For not the first time in many months, he thought of the little kitchen maid he had been mildly fond of. Searching deep, he realized he couldn't remember her face. She was soft, kissed with a mouth of honey and when she became pregnant with what she claimed was his child, he had been fascinated in the changes, the ripening of her body, taking her up until days before she gave birth. Vaisey had been furious that he had stooped so low as to impregnate a mere servant! She disappeared soon after the babe arrived and for the first time, he wondered, hoped, she escaped, escaped him, left with the baby – a boy – Seth - and was somewhere safer than Nottingham.

Perhaps Marian helped her… it would be like her to do such…

In one quick, fluid motion, he went from the opening in the wall, to directly in front of her. Both hands gently cupped her face, lifting it, and he lowered his mouth to hers. She was _very_ inexperienced, remaining rigid beneath the sweetness, the tender coaxing of his lips and when he tasted tears, he lifted his head and turned her loose. "Save your maidenhead for one who loves you and will cherish the gift, girl." He stepped away, away from her. Despite everything, he was limp, not desiring of her in the least bit. "Now, go."

"Sir Guy, please-"

"What part of 'no' is not clear?" What little bit of patience he had was quickly dissipating.

Felicity was now crying in earnest and fumbling at the ties at the neck of her blouse. "She needs a healer and I fear for her life. Please, we have nothing of value to sell or trade." She found her fingers caught in a vise, a grip so tight it was painful and it caused her to cry out.

"Do. Not. Barter. Your. Maidenhead." Each word was stressed, hissed between clenched teeth, each word louder than the previous one. She opened her mouth to continue, but he put up a single finger, effectively cutting off her retort. "Turn around. Close your eyes."

When she had done so, he went to the trunk at the foot of his bed, pulling the key from the thong around his neck and opening it. From his things, he pulled a drawstring purse, opening it and dumping several copper and silver pieces from it. Inspecting what he had in his hand, he selected a few that should be more than generous for the small service he was going to ask. He closed the trunk lid and stood up.

"Felicity. Look at me." She turned back around, staring at the coins in his hand and her blouse gapping. "Tie yourself back up, girl!" he grimaced. He ground out the word 'girl.' "Do not attempt to whore yourself again."

"Yes sir." She quickly began to resituate her clothing.

"I spend more and more time in Locksley than here and I do not see that changing. However, when I am in Nottingham, I find that my room smells musty and the dust offends my nose. You are to keep it cleaned and aired out when I am not here. Keep fresh firewood in the fireplace and clean linens as well. Can you do that?"

"Yes sir."

"Also," he put up a long, single finger, "Lady Marian's chamber has not been taken."

She shook her head. "No sir."

"You are to clean and keep her rooms as well. Pack her things if there are any left. The next time I am here, I will take responsibility for them and take charge of the room. Take nothing; I know each and every piece in the room. Hold out your hand." She was shaking, terrified of the generous amount of coins dropped in her hand. "Should you do a good job, this will continue." He nodded to the door. "Now go, before I change my mind." As she turned, he grabbed her by the arm. "Say nothing, to no one. If I hear one word of this, I will make sure the sheriff knows you are making money on the side and he will tax you for it."

Felicity was shaking her head. "Yes sir. I won't tell a soul, Sir Guy." Quickly, she scurried out the door, it whispering shut in her wake.

Guy rolled his eyes. Turning down willing flesh. Virgin flesh at that! What has the world come to?

_May my heart know only virtue__. My might shall uphold the weak._

Suddenly, he felt the need for his own bed in Locksley, the desire to sit down to break his fast with Genevieve sitting across from him. It didn't matter that her nose would be in that notebook, scribbling away at everything she was scribbling away at. With a growl, he grabbed his change purse from the trunk and throwing on his leather duster, he blew out the candles and stormed from his rooms, ready to make a stable boy's life hell, and damning this wretched weather…

… as well as the wench he now desired to bed above all others. Somehow, he had to get her out of his mind and out of his system.

~~~...~~~

'cause that's the one you really want

~~~...~~~

_A/N - First, I made an error in the books Genevieve was reading. It was A Knight's Vengeance, not The Vengeful Knight. And by request... the listing is as follows: _

_Evie's Knight (The Knight Series) by Kimberly Krey_

_A Knight's Temptation, A Knight's Persuasion and A Knight's Vengeance by Catherine Kean_

_Knight's Caress - Lynette Vinet_

_Only in her Dreams, - Kristina McKnight_

_Seducing the Knight, (Brotherhood of the Scottish Templars) Gerri Russell_

_Sword of the Raven, - Diana Duncan_

_Wild Viking Princess - (The FitzRam Family Medieval series) Anna Markland_

_A Man of Value, (The Montbryce Legacy) Anna Markland_

_Warrior's Bride, - Gerri Russell_

_Passion in the Blood, (The Montbryce Legacy) Anna Markland_

_Conquering Passion, (The Montbryce Legacy) Anna Markland_

_Lady in White, - Denise Domning._

_All of these came from Amazon and at one point or other were free..._


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